The Day Benden Went To War
by D. M. Domini
Summary: Ninth Pass Pern is rediscovered by the Nine Star League.  Pern/Talent crossover. This is the updated and edited version.
1. Chapter 1

**RIP, Anne McCaffrey**

**1 April 1926 – 21 November 2011**

**May she find peace _between_.  
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><p><strong><strong>**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Dragonriders of Pern, or the Tower and the Hive universe. They were created by Anne McCaffrey. I am merely playing in the universe she created, because it's a wonderful universe.**  
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**Author's Note:** I update on AO3 first (see my profile for a link), then here some time later. Also, this is an UPDATED version with CONSIDERABLE rewrites. While some chapters are the same (particularly at the start), you will likely need to re-read due to the extensive edits I've made later on. They have, on the whole, made the story stronger I believe, so hopefully it won't be too much of a chore.

As always, I appreciate comments! Thank you for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Jeran Gwyn-Raven sat down quietly on his tower couch and fingered the controls in the armrest, but did not activate them.

Becoming Deneb Prime felt...stranger than he had expected it would. He'd spent most of his childhood here on this far-flung colony planet with his grandmother Isthia and his siblings, while his parents, Jeff Raven and Angarhad Gwyn, did their duties as Primes far away on Earth and Callisto Moon Base respectively, telekinetically shifting cargo and travelers from one end of the Nine Star League to the other. The land for Deneb's Tower had been set aside since before he was born, a concession that his father had wrangled from the previous Earth Prime before consenting to take up the position himself, and sometimes, when their grandmother was not keeping a close eye on Jeran and his sister Cera (usually because their other siblings Damia and Larak were making trouble) they'd come out here to play.

_Look__at__me!__I'm__Prime!_ he'd tell his sister, and they'd shift piles of debris telekinetically from one side of the wilderness to the other, while sitting on the roof of the small shack with its temperamental old dynamo and over-enthusiastic "Deneb Tower" sign spray-painted on by some cousin. They'd pretended it was the biggest and finest Tower in the FT&T, as grand as the Tower their father had created in their heads, or, as they grew older and their imaginations became more agile, even _grander_.

The FT&T finally broke the ground to actually build the Tower when he was fifteen years old. He'd come to watch, with Cera at his side, and in his mind, so they could think at each other, lightning quick. Grandmother had been there too, and "uncle" Ian, who was only a little older than Jeran, and Damia and Larak, but Damia had been snotty, and so had her brother Larak, so Grandmother had thankfully sent them away with the admonishment that if they couldn't say anything nice to Jeran and Cera, they shouldn't say anything at all.

At sixteen, Jeran had left Deneb to begin his advanced Tower training elsewhere in the Nine Star League. First he went "home" (although he really considered Deneb home now) to the moonbase on Callisto, where his mother and father lived. For three months, he assisted his mother The Rowan and her T-3 twic Afra Lyon in their duties, shunting traffic and cargo that didn't actually have to land on Earth through the Terran solar system and into the hands of other Primes and Tower teams. Then for another quarter-year, he went to Prime David at Betelgeuse, to train under him and his T-2 wife. After that, he visited Altair, his mother's childhood home, and worked with the T-2 pair that had been handling that tower ever since Prime Siglen had died.

And in his downtime, when the thought of 'porting himself all the way back to Deneb after a long shift under some senior Talent's watchful eye didn't seem too exhausting, he went back to Deneb, to watch _his_tower being built. Then he'd walk the bones of the building, blueprints in hand, looking at the CAD illustrations and imagining what it would like to be Prime here. Until Cera had started her own training, she had accompanied him, talking, supporting him, and never making superior comments that it wasn't his _yet_ and that he shouldn't count his brood before it was hatched like Damia liked to warn. Damia didn't have a specific Tower waiting for her, but it _was_ waiting for her, wherever it ended up being—she didn't _understand_ that the illusion of choice they had was false. Talent was in their blood. It was absolutely vital to the smooth running of the Nine Star League…and there were only a handful of Primes in the universe. They'd _all_ be Primes in Towers—all but Larak, who wasn't a T-1—because they _had_ to be. There was no "counting eggs" about it; the FT&T had been placing Primes in Towers as quickly as it found them for the past three hundred years.

Now, suddenly it seemed, Deneb Tower was finally finished. The cradles were in, nestled halfway into the ground, awaiting the catch of the first interstellar shipments. The cargo fields stretched on forever, built purposely overlarge as time had shown great cities tended to build up around the FT&T Towers, and they needed to be thoughtful in their planning so that Deneb Tower's cargo spaces weren't broken up and scattered around a dozen different sites like Earth Tower's was.

There were areas for sleds to land on at the new Deneb Tower, an airport, and maglev tracks. The exterior of the Tower was landscaped with native and attractive Denebian plants. Inside, there were rows upon rows of empty storefronts, which would soon be filled with the exotic goods from each of the other colony planets, Altair, Procyon, Betelgeuse, Capella, and so forth, even Earth itself, goods that would be brought there by Jeran's telekinesis. There were baggage terminals, security checkpoints, a hotel, and thousands of square feet of office space.

The official opening of the Tower came first, on his birthday. Cera was there, smiling happily for him whenever they brushed minds. Father was there too, dressed smartly and acting very Earth Prime-ish around the polite Denebian reporters, because Deneb was proud of having produced Earth Prime and expected him to play the part. Mother was there, looking beautiful and mystical with her pure white hair unbound and flowing. She'd told him when he was small she'd only ever colored it once, when she was eighteen, and that had been blond. (She hadn't told him why, though.) And grandmother had come too, and a flock of their Raven, Sparrow, Hawk, and other various bird-surnamed cousins. Oh, and of course Damia and Larak, who paid as much attention to him as the most distant cousins did. They were more interested in poking their noses all around the corners of _his_ tower, and they were interested in eating things. Some days he almost felt ashamed of them.

There were also high-ranking non-family Talents. Gollee Gren, his father's T-4 twic, greeting him loudly and familiarly, then catching himself and repeating the greeting in a slightly less rakish manner as Jeran _technically_ outranked him now that he was a posted Prime.

Afra Lyon, on the other hand, of course _never_forgot politeness as he approached Jeran to convey the appropriate well-wishes the Rowan's twic should convey—although he also let a tiny bit of pride show through his shields. Jeran wasn't as close to Afra as his younger siblings were, but he'd known the reserved Capellan all his life and the man's well-regard warmed him.

Then there was the parade of Deneb notables, reporters, and performers. He performed his prepared speech for them, and closed his mind to Damia and Larak's attempts to broadcast images of everyone being naked at him.

And after all of that, there was the private birthday party, with family only. _Close_ family—which meant that fortunately the extraneous Denebian cousins left, and unfortunately so did Gollee and Afra, and even more unfortunately, Damia and Larak _stayed_.

Now, past midnight, was the first time he finally had to himself. Tomorrow, at noon, he would commence sending and catching his very first cargo ships. Altair Tower was the first he would catch from, as it was closest.

It shouldn't be a big deal. Jeran had a competent crew behind him, and they had trained with him at Earth Tower, doing one and two hour shifts in Earth Prime's stead as the senior Talent and his crew looked on. If _they_ could handle an hour or two of Earth's demanding Tower schedule, Deneb with its relative drip of back-and-forth would be a breeze.

Still, he felt a little nervous. He was also the FT&T's eyes out in this sector of space. Never mind that Deneb had never had a prime of its own in its short history; it had been repeatedly bombed by Hiver aliens only a year or so before he was born. That _was_ in fact how his father had met his mother. Jeff Raven had reached out his then-untrained but powerful mind into the depths of space, desperate for help as he telekinetically lobbed bombs off of the planet into the sun—and mother, on her moon at Callisto, had responded.

Jeren would never admit it to anyone—well, anyone except Cera who knew his mind like she knew her own—but that was sort of romantic. Or would have been, if there hadn't had an alien fleet systematically trying to rid Deneb of its human inhabitants. Would he find whomever he was destined for somewhere in the stars?

Jeran pushed those thoughts aside for now, and leaned back on his couch, and closed his eyes. With a finger, he depressed the button on the armrest to start up one of the new dynamos. Just one, a small one. It rumbled faintly to life, purring warmly like a cat at his mental touch. And like a cat, he gathered it up to him, gestalting with its power, and sent his mind off-planet to roam among the stars.

The nearest stars weren't entirely unfamiliar to him. He'd grown up on this planet after all, and had sometimes sent his mind out to touch them, to know the flavor of their inner fusion, to count the number of rocky planets they had whirling around them.

Tonight, he passed those by. He stretched further, reached further, exploring, cataloging with his near-perfect memory. He skimmed planetary rings, zipped around moons, paused to examine an Oort cloud.

He might have missed what he found next, had not the curious orbit of a rogue planet caught his attention. The rogue planet had a strange texture, not quite like anything he had encountered before. In fact, it felt somewhat alive...like a grassy plain was alive, or like an ocean was alive. Not alive in itself, but covered by a slick veneer of living, although dormant...pods.

Pods?

Flicking his mind around, he found these pods also extended into space in a sort of cloud or corona, beyond what was reasonable for most planetary-based life forms. He brought his mind close to one of these pods, followed it on its journey, watching, but not touching, observing, but not altering. He followed as it began its descent into the atmosphere of a planet in its star's "goldilocks" zone. He observed as its outer layer was scored away by the friction. In fact, he focused so tightly on it, that he didn't realize something much more fascinating was a hairsbreadth away (in stellar terms) until a dragon roared in rage at its ancient enemy and seared his thread spore to blackdust.

Jeran jerked his mind away from the dragon like it was _he_ who had been seared by the fire. An alien. A mind! An alien mind, that he had touched, just for a moment.

Hivers?

No. Not Hivers. No _sting-pzzt_.

But a mind. A _sentient_, thinking _mind_.

In the Tower, Jeran's eyes popped open, and the whine of the dynamo he had been drawing upon dropped to inaudible levels. He sat up, his hands shaking. With a quick internal glandular adjustment, he filtered the extra adrenaline out of his system and, quite literally, slowed his heartbeat.

A moment of self-doubt assaulted him—if the mind he had touched had been _alien_, why had he thought of it as a dragon? Dragons were a human thing, stories built up when ancient man had unearthed fossilized dinosaur bones without knowing what they actually were or how they got there. Or was the mind so alien to him, that the first thing his mind had done was draw something out of mythology to describe it?

Was this like that soul-eater stunt that Damia and Larak had pulled? He made a face.

He should go back and touch it again, to be certain.

And yet—this was his first day as Deneb Prime. There were protocols to be followed. Rules that existed because there were _reasons_. He couldn't violate these rules his very first day as Prime. In a case like this, he should contact Earth Prime and report it. And he absolutely should not be arrogant, to believe that if he touched it again and things went sour, he could handle it _alone_.

So he called up a console window, and quickly typed out a report. The first report he'd entered into the system as Deneb Prime. He did this to organize his thoughts, and to identify more precisely which planet circling which star had these _dragons_ on it. Rukbat, his star charts told him. There was a planet circling it that scientists had determined was probably habitable, using spectrum analysis and other methods of research from telescopes set up on Altair. However, it showed few traces of the elements a modern starfaring civilization needed to expand. There were far better prospects out there for the Nine Star League to explore. Iota Aurigae was one recent example, colonized almost solely due to its extremely rich and easily-accessible mineral deposits.

Once Jeran had completed typing up his report, and the last initial tremors of excitement and trepidation in his hands had ceased, he revved the dynamos again, and reached out to touch his father's sleeping mind. _Earth__ Prime!_

_Mmm?_ His father said. _Go__ to __bed, __Jeran. __I'm__ worn __out. __Your __mother's __worn __out. __Hell, __even__ Afra's __worn __out, __and __he's__ good __at__ hiding __it __and __didn__'__t __even __attend __the __second __party. __Didn't __you __celebrate __enough?_

Doubt assailed Jeran, but he hid it well behind shields not even his father could break. _Earth__ Prime,__ I'm __sorry __for __disturbing __you, __but __I__ have __a __report __to __make. __I __thought__ it __was __important__ enough __to __wake __you __with._ He knew he sounded stuffy, but he had to make his father know he was contacting him in his role of Prime, not family member.

Stuffy or not, it _did_ get Jeff Raven's attention. He felt his father's curiosity begin to unfurl. _Report__then,__Deneb._

_I __was__ surveying __the __stars __around __Deneb, __getting __their __feel, __learning __them__ so __that __if __anything __unusual __occurs __or __approaches __this __planet, __I__ will __be __aware __of __it._

There was a restrained feeling of approval from Earth Prime.

_I__ was__ exploring__ an__ Oort __Cloud __in __a __solar __system__ between __here __and __Earth, __which __had __the __orbit __of __a __rogue __planet__ cutting__ through __it.__ I__ followed__ the__ planet,__ and__ I__ identified __that__ some__ sort __of __life __is __seeded __everywhere __upon __it, __although __dormant. __Some__ of __that...seeding, __some__ of __those __pods, __are __being__ pulled __from __that __planet__ to __a__ different__ planet__ with __a __more __stable__ orbit__ in __the__ goldilocks__ zone.__ When __I __followed__ a __pod, __I __encountered...well,__it __sounds__ silly,__ but __the __first __thing __that__ came __to __mind __is __"dragons"._

_Go__ on._

_They're __sentient.__ I __felt __minds. __And__ they're __busy __breathing __fire__ at __those __pods __falling __on__ their __planet. __They're_ sentient.

There was a heartbeat, then two, then three, where Jeff Raven's touch vanished. Jeran waited patiently.

Then Earth Prime's mental touch returned, much more alert. _Get__ your__ new__ Tower__ going,__ prepare__ to__ catch__ my__ pod.__ You __better__ not__ be__ pulling __my __leg,__ Deneb._

_No __sir.__ I'm__ not!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"And _then_ what happened?" Lessa said, her arms folded over her chest, and her entire tiny wherhide-clad body radiating skepticism like glows did light.

The greenrider, barely out of weyrling training, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but standing here in front of the Benden Weyrleaders with the story he had to tell. "Aloth said there was _somebody_ out there. She thought it was another rider pair at first, but D'red had gone _between_ on his blue so it wasn't him. And then this huge tangle of thread was coming at us, so we rose to flame it—and..."

"And?" F'lar prompted.

"I felt it too. It—it was _in_ the thread. A...a...presence. I almost asked Aloth not to...not to flame it. I know, horrible idea, I'll never think of it again. But it was as if there was a _person_ there, except we couldn't see him. We flamed it, and...it was gone. Like we killed it. Him. It." He shook his head, distress clear on his face. "What if we _did_? What if we _killed_ something?"

"You did. You killed thread," F'lar said dryly, although his yellow eyes were not all that amused.

"Did anyone else...encounter this?" Lessa asked.

The greenrider shook his head, then shrugged. "If they did they aren't gossiping. I came right to you two. Discreet."

_More like, he doesn't want to be the laughingstock of his wing, and trusts us not to publicly humiliate him. He reports to us, we do the inquiry, he feels he did his duty, and _we_ look like dimglows to anyone we go telling this to._ Lessa did not exactly approve of being put into this position, and frowned.

F'lar glanced at her, then rose to his feet. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, C'cel. We'll do any investigating that needs to be done. However, since you seem to have had quite a scare, I'm going to remove you from your wing for the next two sevendays."

"Oh."

"You understand, we can't have riders hesitate in flaming thread. Particularly ones as low in the formation as you two are. We can't have complete, un-flamed tangles hitting the queen wings below you."

C'cel looked at the ground, knowing they did not believe him. "I know. Aloth and I are sorry. Thank you sir, for listening."

"You may go."

_Ramoth?_ Lessa asked, when the rider was out of sight.

There was a feeling of a shrug from the great queen. _I did not feel this. Aloth is young._

"_I_ did not feel this, _Ramoth_ does not feel this, nobody else has come to us with this," Lessa said to her weyrmate. "And it sounds more than a little silly."

"But not the usual silliness," F'lar said. "C'cel wasn't trying to blame anyone, or get them in trouble. His wingleader did not note his flying as unsatisfactory in his report after the fall, so he's not making wild excuses for poor performance. We've seen a lot of strange things turn out to be true."

Lessa snorted. "I am _not_ going around asking people or dragons if they're seeing faces in thread before they flame it."

"Well, when you put it _that_ way...Mnemeth, can you ask Canth—"

_They will do it,_ F'lar's bronze said to them both.

"There we go," F'lar said, spreading his hands expressively.

Lessa shook her head, then started to strip her gear off, heading for the bathing pools to wash the stink of her flamethrower and other riders' firestone off. "Fool's errand. You're wasting your brother's time, you know."

"Probably," F'lar admitted. "But he owes me for that disgusting string of wins he had last night," he added with a grin.

#

**Two Sevendays later:**

"And—_and!_," the Harper said, leaning back in his chair, one hand gently caressing the bronze firelizard tail that wound about his throat. "Do you want to know what he said to that?"

"What did he say, Robinton?" Lessa asked, giving the man what he wanted, since he was looking around at the group gathered at the dining table expectantly, with wide blue eyes.

"He said 'no'. After _all_ of that." And Robinton threw up his hands in a gesture that made it clear there was no saving fools from themselves. Zair adeptly ducked his bronze head out of the way as Robinton did this.

The group of them—F'lar, Lessa, Brekke, Manora, Sebell, Lytol, and Master Fanderal—made an array of sounds, ranging from laughter to scorn to expressions of disbelief.

Lessa just shook her head at him. The Harper told a good tale, she'd give him that.

"You don't believe me, do you, Lady Lessa?" he asked her, catching her eye from across the table. He'd wore an elegant if understated tunic of Harper and slate blue for this evening's Hatching, and it made his expressive eyes all the more expressive.

"I have not said that I _don't_ believe you," Lessa said with a smile.

"Oh, you wound my delicate heart. Did any of you notice how very precise she was when she said that? How very careful? Have I _ever_ been _anything_ less than truthful?"

"Yes," Sebell said, conspicuously loudly.

That drew a brief smile from F'lar.

Master Robinton's own smile faded. "You. Boy. Go get me some more wine. Shoo." He made little sweeping motions with his fingertips in Sebell's direction, as if sweeping him out of sight and out of mind.

Sebell smiled sweetly at his master, and retrieved his glass, as well as a few others, to refill.

Conversation drifted back to this day's hatching after that, Manora congratulating Master Fanderal on the two Smith boys who had Impressed blues. Lessa reflected for a moment on how curious that tradition was…congratulating a Holder for such a thing made sense; it was a mark of pride for their bloodlines, and one less mouth to feed. But for Master Fandarel—he was losing two boys his Hall had already put time and resources into. The Smith Hall had no prestige invested in its bloodlines; it was, like all Crafts, a meritocracy. And if Smiths suddenly developed a knack for apprenticing boys that would later Impress as Dragonriders, it would do itself harm as a Hall, spending resources on people who didn't stay to directly contribute back to it.

Perhaps the Crafts thought of it as a tithe, she supposed. Her eyes slid over to Master Robinton, who was quietly holding a meat roll in his long fingers, presumably wondering if he should eat it before Sebell returned with more wine, or after. If she had insisted Menolly was Candidate material that evening five turns ago, if she had not held her tongue upon learning the girl with all those firelizards was the same apprentice harper Robinton had been hunting for, if she had not been distracted by Jaxom's untimely Impression, and if she had given the girl the choice _she_ had been given between her passion and the opportunity to Impress a gold, would the girl have gone with Robinton to the Hall? Or would she have chosen to stand on the sands? And if Menolly had instead chosen to stand on the sands, and had Impressed, would Robinton have considered it a tithe to the Weyr? From the start he had had more invested in Menolly than most Crafts would have invested in the much younger boys that were found on Search. He held the young woman in very high esteem.

As if sensing her thoughts were upon him and his journeywoman, Robinton glanced up from the uneaten meatroll he held, and looked at her. He looked a little apologetic, as he was about to say something.

Then she realized there was a speck of fear in his mild blue eyes, but before she could do more than recognize it, suddenly the stance of his body changed, his hand setting the uneaten food down on his plate as the line of his shoulders straightened and the slight slouch in his back vanished.

Ramoth rumbled a warning in her mind and when Lessa blinked, her eyelids shutting out her vision for an instant, the guests at the table all stayed the same in her mind—except for Robinton.

_ There was someone wearing Robinton's skin._

Across the weyr bowl, Ramoth bugled and Lessa leapt up, her wicker chair toppling. She balanced on the balls of her feet, unsure if she was going to spring forward and tackle the man in Robinton's body, or spring away to protect herself from harm. Around her, the Lords and Dragonmen and Masters in their group began to react in surprise, casting around for the source of her alarm.

But she had no eyes for them; she stared at the stranger sitting at their table like a friend.

The man stood up, bringing Robinton to his full, albeit gaunt height. "You are Weyrwoman Lessa?" he asked, the shape, the tenor, the enunciation, even the _sound_ of the words all wrong. All _wrong!_ One didn't have to be a Harper to know that even the best actor couldn't change his voice so completely. It was another man's voice coming out of the Harper's throat, powerful, powerful in the way of a man who knew his strengths and was not afraid to use them.

"_Who are you?"_ she cried, fearing for the Masterharper, an ally, a _friend_, who didn't _deserve_—but she could feel him beneath the other man! Robinton was there! Dominated, but alive! If she could _push_, if she could reach out and _take him—_

"Please, Weyrwoman, the technique I am using to speak to you is entirely safe for this man, it's something I use with my own Masters and Journeymen on a regular basis, but _not_ if you fight with me for him. Between us, we would rip his mind to shreds, and he would not survive it."

_That_ she took as a threat. _YOU will not survive—_and she lashed out with that thought at the intruder—_pushing_ as she had once pushed—

But the clash she expected did not happen; she had the false-impression of a man throwing himself over Robinton and somehow angling his back to let the blow graze him slightly but otherwise avoid the thrust of the blow, like an expert wrestler grabbing a charging opponent and tipping them over a hip with their own momentum. Yet of course, this didn't happen, not exactly like that, not with _bodies_. But with their _minds_. And through all this, no physical manifestation of the mental blows showed on Robinton's serene but impassive face.

Likewise, Lessa jumped when the expected mental clash was averted, but let no other sign of it cross her face or the rest of her body. Instead, she reached out again towards this alien in Robinton's body and—

—and—

Robinton blinked, then wheezed in a breath and a hand shot down to brace himself on the tabletop. Then his other hand came up, fingers spread and palm out at her—stop, the gesture pleaded. "Lady Lessa," he said, in his distinctive baritone. "Let him speak. Don't hit me with—with—whatever you're going to do."

"Are you all right?" Lessa demanded, leaning forward over the table and searching Robinton's face. The Harper was not looking himself, and that frightened her. _Ramoth, can we—detach this parasite from him?_

A look of alarm crossed Robinton's face, as if he had heard that. "I will be better if you don't fight over me. All _he_ wants to do is _talk_. Please let him talk. Talking is _good_, it is calm, it lets us come together to _think_ rather than _react_—" As he seemed to gather his train of thought, she could hear him master his voice, remove the shaky tone of alarm from it, the better to persuade the men and women at the table.

"Then _talk_!" she snapped, not at the Harper, but at the presence inside of him.

Robinton pushed away from the table. He was buried once again, as a stranger with blue eyes stared down at her. "My name is Jeff Raven, and I've been authorized by the Nine Star League to make contact the authorities in Benden Weyr. Master Robinton believes you to be Weyrwoman Lessa. Is this true?"

"It is," she said shortly. But—Nine Star League? She glanced at Fanderal, wondering if his nearsighted and absent-minded star-smith was involved in something he should not be.

"And where would I find Weyrleader F'lar?" The man who called himself "Jeff" pronounced it incorrectly, more akin to the word "flare", his tongue melding the first two consonants together with no discernable pause.

Her eyes did not land on the figure behind Jeff/Robinton.

But F'lar was not one to hide. "Behind you," the bronzerider in question said, amber eyes fierce behind a forelock of dark hair.

Lessa felt a surge of vindication when she saw F'lar unsheathing his blade, then frustration when she realized it could do nothing but harm the very man they wanted to free. Of course, if this Jeff went running off with Robinton's body, he could do quite a lot of harm to others and to the reputation of the Harper Hall—but if they could restrain him first…she caught her mate's eye and knew this was the intent…a bluff, a distraction to let her strike as he was forced to deal with F'lar's blade—she gathered her thoughts again, pulling her strength to her—

_ STOP!_ the mind said, and there was a brief whiff of burning leather, before F'lar shifted his grip uncomfortably on the pommel of his sword and a look of concentration crossed his features. _Ah,_ Jeff said, his attention clearly on F'lar even though Robinton's body had never turned, and was still exposed to the partially drawn blade. _Telekinetic. That answers one question. Your micro-kinesis is clever, Weyrleader F'lar, particularly for someone untrained, but I have more strength._ He stated this with neither pride nor regret, simply statement of fact…

And while he said this, Lessa struck, hoping that the distraction—

—that the distraction would—

The distraction failed. F'lar was no distraction to this man, and she was deflected again…this time with pure telepathic strength that made her head ring like she'd been slapped by the giant paw of some lazy feline. Ramoth sounded at the affront to her rider and surprisingly slapped back, although Lessa had never known she could do such a thing—and Robinton staggered, Zair flying off his shoulder, screeching in abject terror.

_Ramoth, stop!_ Lessa cried. _You're hurting the Harper too!_

She felt a shaft of frustration from the great dragon queen. _The Harper is complacent in this!_

_ He has no choice!_ Lessa _knew_ he had no choice, not with a mind pushing him down like this one was.

She had, after all, done the same to others before.

_"THE HARPER" WANTS TO TALK!_ Robinton suddenly roared—but it was an odd roaring, echoing like the voice of a dragon and flavored with the feel of that…that parasite riding him.

_I am aware that my presence and strength of Talent overwhelms him to your senses, so I boosted that, to show that he is still here,_ Jeff said. _I wish to talk, _nothing_ more. And so does your diplomatic Master Robinton here…and that is his duty, yes? He has given me _permission_ to use his mouth to speak._

And as if to demonstrate that, Jeff said outloud, in that voice-which-was-not-Robinton's, "Please sheathe your weapon, Weyrleader," to the bronzerider behind him.

To those still sitting at the table around them, unaware of the mental blows that had just been exchanged, it looked like F'lar was creeping up behind Robinton—who had lost his wits—to stab him in the back, and that Robinton seemed to not care his own ally was drawing cold steel on him—as if an old man could possibly go hand-to-hand with a fit man twenty turns his junior.

Well, they actually came to more than those simplistic conclusions to judge the expressions on their faces—but there was no clear indication of what exactly was happening between Robinton and the Benden Weyrleaders—or with the curious words Robinton had spoken.

"Then why did you attack the Benden Weyrwoman?" F'lar demanded. "Ramoth and Mnementh are roused!"

Finally, Robinton's body moved to face F'lar. "I did not; she struck, and I defended. What happens when you throw your fist into an immovable object? You bruise your fist. I believe the dragon was reacting to that?"

"What _is_ the Nine Star League?" Brekke suddenly asked, glancing at both Lessa and F'lar to watch their reactions.

"Do you wish me to answer that question? Or should I leave and find a Weyr more amiable to discussion? I believe you have several on Pern. I chose Benden because it seemed the best-regarded. The most...powerful, I suppose." The question was asked calmly, with no hint of threat in tone, although Lessa regardless felt threatened by it, somehow. "Make no mistake—I am here for discussion, not war, and discussion is what I will seek."

"Answer Brekke's question," F'lar finally said, and re-settled his sword in its sheath. He rubbed his thumb over the palm of his hand, and rounded the table to take his seat on the other side.

Jeff Raven took that as a signal to sit himself again, and slowly, warily, everyone at that table this evening also shifted to be able to better observe and figure out what by the name of Faranath was going on.

The stranger was quick to enlighten them.

"As I said before, my name is Jeff Raven, and I am contacting you as a representative of the Nine Star League. The Nine Star League is a confederation of all known human-colonized planets in space," and he gestured at the heavens above them. "…that is, until we discovered Pern."

"If you're human, why don't you walk among us?" F'lar asked.

"Do you see the stars up there?" Jeff Raven through Robinton's body, asked, pointing one of Robinton's fingers at the twilight sky where stars were beginning to emerge.

Several pairs of eyes glanced up.

"Are you familiar with the distances involved in traveling from one stellar body or planet to another?"

"Very far," Brekke said hoarsely.

Jeff glanced at Brekke, then nodded Robinton's head respectfully, as if he knew what experience she spoke from, that fateful time when her mate F'nor made the leap _between_ on his brown dragon Canth to the Red Star. They'd barely made it back alive. "And not necessarily safe. It's faster and more efficient to talk first."

There was silence for a moment.

"What is your rank within this Nine Star League?" Lytol asked, cutting to practicalities in that pragmatic way of his.

Jeff glanced over at Lytol, blinked, then gazed at F'lar. But he answered the question. "I am essentially the Craftmaster of the FT&T—Federated Telepath and Teleport. My title is Earth Prime. Were I Pernese, you would call me the Mastertalent. The FT&T assists the Nine Star League in matters such as this one, where a sudden physical contact could…cause severe misunderstandings with irreversible side-effects." He didn't directly remind them that even using the medium of Robinton in this particular case hadn't prevented that initial reaction. He didn't have to, though; the scene of F'lar drawing steel on Robinton's bare back was unsettling. "We are also an independent entity, however, so I do not have a direct ranking within the Nine Star League. Rather, it's a relationship similar to the ones you may have with your own Craftmasters. If they need our aid, they request it. If the request falls within the abilities and ethical guidelines of the FT&T, we may assist."

"And what is 'telepath' and 'teleport'?" Lytol said.

"The act of speaking to your dragon without words is…" there was a slight pause. Lytol, once L'tol, did not blink. Then Jeff resumed. "Ah…that is a form of telepathy. And teleportation is the act of traveling from point A to point B without crossing the distance in between."

"We call this '_between'_," Lessa said.

The uncustomary neutral and businesslike look on Robinton's face softened, and his features suddenly re-arranged themselves into something that expressed charismatic humor dancing beneath the surface. "Your Masterharper _also_ just made me aware I called a spade a spade. Differences _between_ our cultures, I suppose," he said, making a pun. "Even on our worlds, not many people understand immediately what _'between'_ is."

The Mastertalent's humor had no effect on Lytol however. His mouth stretched down by frown lines as much as its scars, Lytol said, "And with this 'telepathy', have you altered him? Changed him?"

"Robinton?" Jeff asked. "Changed? As in, altered his thoughts, made him act in a way that he would not have otherwise acted without my interference? No. The FT&T has an ethical reputation to uphold, which is the basis for the smooth running of the Nine Star League. There are severe penalties, up to and including burnout and death, for telepaths that meddle with the minds of others."

"So you're a dragonrider?" Master Fandaral asked.

Jeff Raven shook Robinton's head. "I have not met a dragon before today. So no." He paused, and said delicately, "This Weyr here has…_concentrations_ of men and women possessing telepathic Talent that I have never seen outside of a FT&T Tower. And _we_ sift through thousands upon thousands of people to find a single person or two with an ability for my Craft."

"You Search," Lessa said, distilling it to something she was already familiar with. "What do your Candidates do, if you have no dragons?"

"We train them to transport goods and people from planet to planet, star to star," Jeff said promptly. "We train them to speak long-distance over terrain that's impassible by traditional means."

Lessa caught her mate F'lar's amber eyes for a moment, then turned back to this Earth Prime. "You have no thread," she stated.

"No."

"Do you know what thread is?"

"I do. This...environmental danger is so interwoven into your daily lives that it's difficult for me to miss."

F'lar picked up the question. "You _never_ had thread?" he queried, his gaze intense.

"No…although we have dealt with large-scale disasters on some of our colonies." Jeff paused. "But a re-occurring world-wide barrage by an alien organism is not something that occurs…regularly…on any other known inhabited planet. Pern is unique in that way. Knowing even as little as I do about Pern, I have massive respect for the sacrifices your Talents…your Weyrs…obviously make to keep your people alive."

"It is our duty to protect," Lessa said automatically, as she thought furiously.

"And that's why I hold no grudge against any of you for taking me to be an enemy. I would assume no different in your positions, when confronted by a disembodied mind from the stars. I would react to protect my people."

To Lessa's surprise, she actually felt a purposeful shaft of respect directed towards them from this mentally powerful man, much like she would feel love from Ramoth. It unsettled her, and made her wonder if she'd been remiss at…at not exploring all that she could do. But _how_ would she have refined her abilities? She was not so thick-witted that anything beyond the commonly acknowledged "eerie" dragon/rider bond would start a firestorm of outcry. Even F'lar, who knew she was so gifted, was more prone to shutting her down when he "noticed" it. And it was wrong to send everyone dancing for no good reason.

Without physically looking at her, Jeff Raven said, _Fear is a problem all telepaths face. As are ethics. The FT&T operates based on a foundation of trust—which is the hardest thing to build and the easiest thing to tear down. We've spent over three hundred years—turns as you call them—building and maintaining our reputation—and yet we still encounter those who prefer to fear us and our abilities, no matter our history._

_That's not very long,_ she mused.

Jeff gave her a sideways glance with Robinton's eyes, and did not comment, although she sensed she had said something unexpected. "I realize I have taken all of you by surprise and have presented you with many thoughts that will require a great amount of consideration. I have been authorized by the Nine Star League to provide you with a book that will tell you more about us, our intentions in contacting you, and other basic information. However, due to obvious linguistic shifts that have occurred between your version of the Basic tongue and ours I have also given Master Robinton the knowledge he needs to translate this text for you. As long as the requests are comfortably spaced to allow him time to assimilate the information he now has, he should be able to clarify words and meanings that are unfamiliar to you." Jeff paused and seemed to look inward. "Like untangling a nest of firelizard impressions, I'm told. Ha. I hope my gift was a little more well-ordered than that!" And with a broad smile, he held up Robinton's hands, palm-first, before him.

For a moment they thought he was making some sort of odd gesture, then from nowhere—or actually, from _between_ but without the presence of dragon or firelizard—a rectangular form appeared and settled into his grasp. It was, perhaps, the first physical proof that Robinton wasn't somehow pulling off a complex performance. Jeff placed it down in a clear spot on the table. "Here it is." Then he seemed to change the subject. "I chose Robinton as my temporary avatar this evening because he's one of the few in this Weyr that has Talent for my Craft, but who is not bonded with a dragon. Speaking to those without Talent in my Craft is possible, but leaves the ones I speak to with a excruciating headache. While Robinton shouldn't have a reaction quite _that_ severe, it is not _always_ easier on those who have my type of Talents only weakly; together, he and I, we chose to inconvenience him in order to spare the rest of _you_ from any ill-effects. Healer?" he asked, looking towards Brekke and Manora.

"Yes?" Brekke said, uncertainly.

"Masterharper Robinton should be fed nutritious food to restore his energy and mind. Fruits and sweet things now for an immediate effect, some salt, and breads and grains later. That's in addition to regular meals." His imperative tone softened. "I've done what I've could to take the majority of this link upon myself, up to and including diverting the Weyrwoman and her dragon's valiant but misguided attempts to throw me out, but I doubt your Master Robinton has ever had a mental workout like this one before. Take care of him, please."

With that, he sat Robinton's body down, and then leaned forward to prop his arms and head on the table. Then the _presence_ Lessa had felt vanished completely, and despite the precautions Robinton began to weakly slide off the table.

Everyone moved to assist.

Robinton strained momentarily against their hands, and a second later he was sitting up on the bench again, more or less under his own power, although the hands of F'lar, Manora, and Fandaral all steadied him. He blinked ahead of himself blankly for a moment, like a surprised wherry who didn't quite know what to do with himself, then lifted his head to look at Lessa.

"Don't—" he began in a weak, hoarse voice, before pausing to cough several times, as if clearing something from his throat, such as the ghost of another man's vocal chords. "Don't take this the wrong way, Lessa, because you are fierce beyond comparison...but I will never fear you for the strength of your mind alone again. Mastertalent indeed."

It was then that Sebell returned from his task, two full Benden wineskins in his hands. When he saw the way so many important people were clustered around his master, his expression gave way to alarm, and he ran the last few steps with long-legged strides, obviously quite distressed something had happened. "Master Robinton!"

"Oh! Is that wine? For me? Good boy, clever lad, get me a handful of Masters and I'll promote you right now. _Master_ Sebell—how's that sound? Two full wineskins. Those are mine. Every drop. Everyone else will have to make do with water or klah."

And, for the moment, that broke the alarmed, strained silence, just a little bit. How could the man be harmed if he still wanted his wine? And if this Jeff Raven had tampered with Robinton's mind despite what he had said about ethics...he obviously had left the wine-loving part alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

When Jeff Raven opened his eyes in the Nine Star League's Diplomatic Headquarters on Earth, he found that the cadre of interested specialists, military men, and government officials that had been hovering around him had left. Oh, he'd noticed it on some level—he had learned not to neglect the status of his physical body the difficult way, by taking bomb shrapnel to the chest when his mind was occupied with other tasks—but the officials leaving had been a relief, not a threat, and thus relegated to the back of his thoughts until now.

The only person left in the small room set aside for telepathic contacts such as tonight's, aside from himself, was the Nine Star League Chairwoman Ashura Ironsi. She sat in an upright chair next to his reclining couch, her chin resting on her folded knuckles and her legs crossed as she observed him. She wore cream-colored slacks and a matching tunic that contrasted nicely with her dark skin, and her curly gray hair was done up in a neat bun. "It's not Hivers, is it?" she asked.

Jeff gave her a startled look, for her strong natural shield precluded him from reading her mind, then shook his head quickly. "No," he assured her, and stilled his hands before they could go up to touch his temples, rubbing them together in a brisk dry-wash instead, as if he were merely moving from one task to another. The Weyrwoman's attempts to throw him out had failed, but the dragon—Ramoth—was another matter. That had _hurt_, particularly as he'd purposely absorbed as much as he could to protect his host, the Masterharper Robinton. He wondered if this sore, stretched, and rattled head-feeling was what lesser Talents felt when strained. He'd have to ask Gollee or Afra. And speak privately to Elizara.

"The drum here has three telekinetic 'incidents'," Ironsi said, leaning back in her chair.

Jeff blinked, then glanced over at the ancient machine. The hardware Talents used in the Tower proper on Earth was completely modern, but government facilities preferred "tried-and-true" methods. It had been such a long time since he'd seen anything other than a digital readout that he abruptly sat up and leaned over to look at what the swinging needle driven by his brainwaves had created.

And a moment later, he was glad he did; as plain as day, the second kinetic pattern was _intensely_ deviated. Specifically the second kinetic pattern—_after_ he'd played hot-potato with the Weyrleader's sword, but _before_ he 'ported the Handbook over.

That was when the dragon had hit him, and he had blocked it. It was _like_ but _unlike_ any kinetic pattern he'd ever seen. And very strong. The paper had a slight tear from the needle.

"Beautiful," he muttered.

"Earth Prime?" the Chairwoman of the Nine Star League said, breaking into his thoughts. "Some report other than 'not Hivers' would be helpful."

Jeff glanced over at the woman, than gave her his patented award-winning Raven smile, which she did not fall for one bit, politician that she was. Drat. He widened his smile, although to no avail. "How about 'here there be dragons', then?" he asked facetiously. _Gollee?_ he asked at the same time.

_Here_, his second in command instantly responded. _I'm outside the door, being your bodyguard._

_You ushered the crowd out?_

_No. That was Ironsi._

_Get in here, you have more experience with the drums than I._

"Dragons," the most powerful woman in the Nine Star League repeated back to Jeff, unaware of his conversation with Gren.

"Dragons?" Gollee also echoed, striding into the room.

Earth Prime nodded respectfully to the Chairwoman. "You'll have to take my word for it Madame." And then he flashed an image to Gollee.

"They're _sentient_?" Gollee asked. Then he whistled, his eyes slightly unfocused for a moment as he looked at the mental image Jeff had given him. "Look at those gigantic bug-eyes!"

"_Not_ Hivers," Jeff reinforced, looking at Ironsi, all too aware that any idle phrase that contained the word "bug" could be triggering.

"Oh no, those aren't Hivers by any stretch of the imagination," Gollee agreed. Jeff could feel the other man's rosy fascination in the image he'd sent to him. "No sting-pzzt either."

Ironsi raised her eyebrows.

Jeff rose from his couch and jiggled a slight cramp out of one leg. "It's a term my daughter Damia made up; she grew up on Deneb and they still bring in some pieces of hiver metal dug out of the ground every so often. It has a...a bad, acrid mental 'taste' to the Talented," Jeff explained. "If you've ever experienced it, you'll never forget it. Especially so for those Talents that assisted in the defense of Deneb."

Gollee made an expressive face of disgust. "It's like drinking battery acid," he said.

_Is that another unique experience from your misspent youth?_ Jeff teased silently.

_Maybe_, his twic said in amusement. _Lord knows I drank a lot of questionable things in my youth._

Strolling away from the reclining couch, Jeff gathered his thoughts for a moment, pausing to tuck a stray chair in at the empty table on the other side of the room, before putting his hands in his pockets and turning to address Ironsi. "As agreed, I made contact with the people living upon the world orbiting Alpha Sagittarii; they call themselves 'Pernese' and their world 'Pern' and they reference their sun by its old Arabic name, Rukbat. Per my last report, it is populated by humans."

"Any progress on figuring out when and by whom it was colonized?" Ironsi asked.

"No Madam," Gollee Gren answered for Jeff when Jeff gave an unseen consent, and a shake of the head to indicate his telepathic contact had uncovered no clues in that direction today. "We have no records of 'porting a colony ship that direction—aside from perhaps Deneb but that's _hundreds_ of light-years farther out in that sector of space. And the colony ships we see orbiting the planet are different from anything that's ever been in use. Currently we are working on unpacking our older archives and updating them to a more modern format so we can access their information, but if we find anything in our records from that far back it'll place this colony at a similar age as Capella and Altair and that..." Gollee shook his head. "That would be _huge_. In those days, every colony founding was significant—you don't have ships going out every five years or so like you do these days to do those...what do they call them? Scratch-test planets. Scratch a furrow in the ground, put in a seed, see if it grows. It'd be the biggest moment of lost history uncovered if we find something buried in our archives referencing Pern's colonization. I don't _think_ we will. Particularly since those ships orbiting don't match any known make or model of spacecraft publicly constructed."

"I think if we do get close to discovering anything, we'll get some precogs on it first," Jeff said.

Gollee nodded. "Agreed, that's why I don't think we will. Not a single blip on any clairvoyant's EEG, not to do with this, anyway."

"And what about the 'dragons'?" Ironsi prodded.

"Native life-forms. Sentient," Jeff said. "They look enough like the old fantasy tale to warrant the name, even with faceted eyes."

"How sentient?" she asked with interest.

"They can talk."

"They speak Basic?"

Jeff pursed his lips. "I do not know, if you want a technical answer for that. They're telepathic. _Human_ telepathy circumvents some portions of the linguistic areas of the brain; language does not prove a barrier to most strong telepaths. But dragons, by definition, are not human. Perhaps they do speak Basic. That's something for our xeno-biologists and xeno-linguists to find out, eventually. They are certainly telepathic though."

_Sentient telepathic bug-eyed aliens,_ Gollee said softly to Jeff. There was a soft wash of excitement. Jeff didn't chuckle, but he wanted to. Gollee was already charmed, and he hadn't been in direct contact with them.

"Are the dragons hostile?" Ironsi asked. It was not a surprising question; the Hivers certainly had been.

Jeff hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

She looked a little amused. "You flinched, during your contact. That's when I decided to take a look at the EGG readouts, since they were there," the Chairwoman said easily.

Returning back to his couch, Jeff sat on the edge of it. "Dragons on Pern have a type of twin-bond with certain humans, as far as I've been able to ascertain..."

Ironsi looked him in the eye. "Like your children?"

_She does her homework,_ Gollee said. _That's not common knowledge._ Jeren and Cera were bonded, and Damia and Larak, but they were not actually twins like most telepaths with twin-bonds were. It first had been an experiment to soothe agitated Cera when she had still been in the womb, and later an exercise in providing Damia with a playmate, when her intensely bonded elder siblings had excluded her as a third wheel.

"My children are not twins," Jeff deflected. "But my presence on Pern, when I spoke through one of their people, unsurprisingly made a stir, as we expected. That was the tradeoff we agreed on when we chose to make first contact telepathic instead of physical. The Weyrwoman Lessa bruised herself on my shields in an effort to protect my host Master Robinton, and her dragon, the gold queen Ramoth, reacted to that pain on an instinctive level. The dragon acted to protect her dragonrider from hurt—something I've seen happen with human-to-human twin bonding. I would strongly advise anyone going forward who has contact with the Pernese to be especially careful around the dragonriders and their dragons until we know more about them. Humans telepathically linked can react to events in ways that seem strange and unpredictable to those not involved in their link—even to other Talents. They are also often strongly protective of one another. In this case, we have the added complexities of this alien, but sentient species." He paused. "But hostile? Likely not without reason. I didn't get that sense; at least at some level, their society has integrated whatever rules there may or may not be in dealing with dragonriders into itself without any ripple that I could pick up on casual contact. We just need to be careful about not giving them reason for hostility."

"Are the men and women who bond with these dragons all Talents? Or do the dragons somehow enact a form of telepathy and twin-bond with their riders regardless of that person's natural abilities?"

"It's too early to say," Jeff said, although he was almost certain Weyrwoman Lessa and Weyrleader F'lar at least were natural Talents. The presence of Masterharper Robinton in the group proved the genes were in the general non-rider population. He did not know if this persisted down through the ranks of the Weyr, however.

"Very well." She eyed Jeff. "It would be quite the shakeup for the FT&T if they are, wouldn't it? You must be very curious about the dragons."

Jeff chuckled. "Curious? Of course. Shakeup? Hopefully not. Many of our people are 'discovered' in the general population—"

"Such as yourself," Ironsi said. Then she nodded at Gollee. "But not all."

_I didn't realize Ironsi was a Bloodhound,_ Gollee said to Jeff, referring to those in (and outside of) government who made it their business to observe and comment on the FT&T's employee personnel relationships and hiring practices.

_Nor did I,_ Jeff said. _I wonder what she's up to._ To Ironsi he said, "No, not all of us are 'found' in the general population, but we are very tolerant of diversity. I don't expect too much of a shakeup on our end of things." He paused for a moment, and looked pensive. "Pern's another matter; while I have seen evidence of advanced technology in some areas, I have a sense that in other areas they have a lower level of technology than even those Procyon naturalist enclaves and the extreme Methody folks on Capella."

"Lower?" Ironsi asked. "How can you get lower-tech than the Procyon Amish? The only machinery they have are emergency comms and beacons."

Jeff shrugged. "I guess we'll see. The Pernese are under enormous pressure due to that biological environmental issue we sensed; it's like an intense sort of planet-wide acid rain. They call it thread. This is what the dragonriders exist to fight as an institution, although I don't know the details. I'm hoping to begin digging into that on our next contact."

"And when is that?" Ironsi asked.

"I didn't set a specific time for re-contact with the Pernese, but we probably shouldn't string it out lest they begin to think they imagined me."

"You think the _dragonriders_ will?" Gollee Gren asked. "If the dragons themselves are telepathic, they know telepathy is real, not imaginary."

"Perhaps not. We'll see. Chairwoman, do you have any additional questions?"

"I do," she said. "But they can wait until I've read your official report."

"Very well," Earth Prime said. "Let's go speak to the others you ushered outside, and then I'll work on that."

#

During the political briefing, de-briefing, chatter, distant promises, etc. etc. Jeff Raven briefly reached out a few times to assess the health of the man he'd used as his vehicle to the Pernese. Not enough to intrude—just enough to know if the man was in overt distress. While he had been as well a mannered guest as possible, only purposely seeking and taking the knowledge he needed to communicate effectively in their terms, and the thoughts offered up freely as the man attempted to communicate with him, one inevitably picked up some additional details about their host if the host was not strong enough or knowledgeable enough to shield, and he knew Master Robinton was an older gentleman, and he also knew Pernese medical technology was, to be kind, grossly inadequate. If he needed to, he would whisk the man into a modern medical facility, and tell the Nine Star League that the potential diplomatic incident of the Masterharper of Pern dying was far more severe than the diplomatic incident of removing a man from his home planet in order to save his life without asking permission first. At least, that was Jeff Raven's take on it; he may not be trained formally in diplomacy, but there was a reason double paths/empaths, trained or not, were well-loved in a diplomatic hitch. A Talent's gut instinct was more bankable than a degreed diplomat's well-educated guess.

But—even though he was playing it safe, he didn't think the man would expire out of shock.

_May I speak through you, so that our people may open a dialogue that does not begin with violence?_ he had asked, the thought lightning-quick. With that question, he had also offered a bundle of connected knowledge and ideas and feelings and notions. Master Robinton had dissected that bundle with surprising ease. And then Robinton had "looked" up at him, felt a combined fission of fear and recognition—he had encountered a powerful telepath before...the Weyrwoman Lessa if Jeff had to guess, if not the dragons themselves—and said, with the bravery of a thousand men, _yes, you may_.

And he had stood back in his own mind, and let Jeff do his thing, without struggle—or at least, without struggled directed at _Jeff_…his ire at the Weyrwoman's actions had been quite evident—and only a few questions.

Jeff rather looked forward to a meeting again, mind-to-mind and without the distraction of an audience, if that's how the man responded under pressure.

So despite the gravity of the situation and the lingering ache in his head, he began to whistle a sprightly tune as he returned to Blundell.

Gollee found him again shortly after he'd arrived back at the Tower, two tall plastic cups of coffee in his hands. The drink smelled heavenly, and Jeff's twic thrust one of them out to him before he even had to ask. The benefits of being among telepaths. "Here," Gollee said. Then he gave a slight out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye look that Jeff would expect more from Afra and said, "You need an asprin too?" The words were light, but it was clear that anything that could cause Earth Prime to have a headache—other than ordinary tension and stress headaches from the incredible responsibility of the position—worried the other man.

"You doing an Afra and increasing sensitivity on me secretly?" Jeff had been shielding the fact that his head was still ringing a little.

The other man snorted. "No. I saw the torn paper in the EEG drum too. I'm only stupid on Tuesdays, and today is not a Tuesday."

Jeff sighed, and took a deep drink of the coffee, shivering slightly as the caffeine hit his system. "The frequency of dragon Talent is a bit…different. She gave me a whack on a level my shields didn't fully absorb."

"She?"

"The queen dragon. Ramoth."

"Why?" Gollee frowned. He didn't seem happy about the implications of it all.

"Cause and effect that I don't think she grasped. Not all the people of interest among those I wished to contact were telepaths, so I borrowed Masterharper Robinton's mouth and spoke. This, unsurprisingly, intimidated them—"

Gollee gave a short laugh. "Better that then a lovely set of migraines all around from 'pathing them directly."

"—and the Weyrwoman Lessa struck out at me in order to free her peer. When she bounced off of my shields, it hurt her, and the dragon reacted to the pain. I believe the dragon thought I'd struck her rider."

"How strong is this Weyrwoman Lessa?" Gollee inquired.

Jeff pursed his lips. "At least as strong as you. Maybe stronger. Actually…probably stronger. No offense. It was quite a whack."

"If I took offense that there were Talents stronger than me out there, I wouldn't be in this job, now would I?" Gollee said phlegmatically. "Who's Masterharper Robinton? And how did he take you riding about in him?"

"Masterharper Robinton is the leader of all the Harpers on Pern."

"And what's a Harper? One who plays the harp?" Gollee's mind had a sense that he was willing to receive a dump of information from Jeff.

Jeff didn't indulge him, however. He was still trying to sort it out in his head, and words were best for that. "Yes and no. It doesn't seem that straight-forward. He's a musician, and a minor Talent, and quite skilled at working a small crowd—mundanely, during the minutes I watched him tell a story, although I think his main Talent is in that area too. I chose him for all of those reasons; he seemed the lowest status high-status person at that table, aside from a few women who were relatives to some of the movers and shakers, and I had no intention of frightening someone who couldn't push back, or insulting someone by inhabiting their mother or wife. Robinton is a receiving telepath, at the very least, and he's known for favoring diplomatic resolutions above strength of arms. That's the general sense that the crowd gave me, at least."

"He's a charmer, not a thug," Gollee said.

Jeff chuckled. "Yes. Just high-status enough that people will listen to him, yet low-status enough as an entertainer that we won't alienate too many people all at once if we speak through him. I sound cold, don't I?" Jeff mused. "I actually like him quite a bit."

"You sound practical," Gollee said. "Once we get someone physical on Pern, you won't have to worry about using his head to talk with."

"Speaking of that, I have to choose someone to go over there and represent Talents."

Sipping his coffee, Jeff's twic thought about this. "The Diplomatic Corps have several empaths in their employ," Gollee said. "I'm not sure we have the pull to pick and choose among them, something of this nature is going to be heavily influenced by their own internal seniority and ranks. It's not often we find a truly new society to liaise with, it'll be career-making for _somebody, _and I don't really know any of them personally. They all trained with us at some point in time, but pure empaths without any additional telepathy or telekinesis don't usually stay with us. We need telepath/telekinetic dual talents for the Towers, not empaths."

"Would _you_ go to Pern, if I sent you?" Jeff asked.

Gollee blinked. His shields were firm, however.

"With Afra perhaps?"

Gollee blinked again. "You want to strip two major Towers for this?"

"Think a little highly of yourself, don't you?" Jeff asked, grinning. "Two men, out of two full Tower crews, and you're saying they've been _stripped?_ What was it that old Reidinger liked to say when he was still Earth Prime? Ah. I have so many of you T-4s and T-3s that I can hire and fire as I please!" Jeff grinned even wider.

"Pfft. You'd be a babe in diapers here without me," Gollee scoffed. "And Afra _trained_ you. Or at least he knocked off all the backworld edges you had while you were with him on Callisto before he handed you to me." Then Gollee grinned. "Hell yes I'll go to Pern. You can use my absence here as a training opportunity for Cera or something. Or some other random T-4 or T-3 as you so glibly assert. Dragons! Telepathic sentient dragons!" And he laughed in delight in a way that made him look twenty years younger. Then he quickly sobered. "But back to practicalities—how are you going to convince the government goons in the Nine Star League that they have to take _us_ with? They're not going to like the FT&T interfering one bit." He shook his head to emphasize this, but his eyes—and mind—were still dancing with amusement.

"How is it interfering? Telepathic _anything_ is _well_ within our jurisdiction. Besides," and Jeff gave Gollee a wicked look. "If they become mulish I'll just wish them a happy ride via reaction drive and start to walk away. They're far too accustomed to the privileges of being whisked around the universe by Talents like us to go without, not when going along with me will be much more convenient."

Gollee whistled. "Earth Prime plays hardball," he said. Then a thought seemed to occur to him. "Ah. Ah-ha. Is this why you have a restriction out banning mid-space drop-offs around Altair? As Rukbat is roughly in the same sector of space? I thought maybe our T-2 duo over there was getting overworked—"

Jeff chuckled.

"All right, maybe you've learned a trick or two and can do without me," Gollee admitted. "For a little while. Dragons," he said again, pensively.

"If I dig, I'm going to find out _you_ were one of those kids running around in virtual games slaying dragons, aren't I? With magic, and sorcerers, and—"

Pulling a face, Gollee said, "No, no, it's not that. Can't stand the depictions of telepaths in those things—they're ridiculous. It's like they've learned nothing from three hundred years of scientifically-proven Talent. I'm sure their dragons are all wrong too. What it is…I guess I've been bored training human talents." He pulled on his lip thoughtfully. "I wonder what it would be like to explore the limits of non-human ones? Wouldn't _that_ be a challenge?"

Jeff clouted his 2IC on the shoulder. "You'll be the best one to find out for me then, eh?" Then he tilted back his cup of coffee and drained it, and tossed it in a trash can with a flick of his mind. "You and Afra. And the distance's not so long that you two won't be able to reach back to Earth regularly. Pern's not as far out as Deneb is."

"Mind if I scout it a little?"

"Let's wait until I ask Afra if he's willing to do this for us. He may have reservations in leaving Callisto Tower—if only because my wife will be upset at losing her twic for any period of time." Jeff sobered a bit and glanced at Gollee. "We also do need to keep a log of contacts for the Nine Star League, that's not something we can get out of particularly since they won't enjoy me interfering with the makeup of their diplomatic teams."

"EEGs don't show anything other than that talent was used. Even the gestalt logs from the generators only show how much power was pulled, not what it was used for. We could be herding horses on Betelgeuse and nobody would know."

Jeff shrugged. "The appearance of control will calm them. Lets not break any more rules unless it's necessary. There's also the matter that the Weyrwoman did strike out at me, and so did the dragon, and we don't know the extent of their psychic strength; I'd like to have both of you behind me next time we visit, just for the extra oomph. And until we know a bit more, I'd worry about you being out there alone without backup. I really do think she might be a stronger Talent than you—_without_ her dragon."

"You're right. Of course." Gollee pondered for a moment, then smirked again as he thought of his future assignment. "Of all your kids, I always thought Damia would be the one to throw something weird at us. Furry one-eyed aliens, interstellar many-minds aboard heavy-fusion ships—whatever, _something_, so long as its weird. But of course it's _Jeran_ who manages it instead, and on his first day as Deneb Prime too. Just to throw a wrench in our expectations."

Jeff chuckled, for Jeren hadn't been the one he'd expect this sort of discovery from either.

"Dragons," Gollee mused. "Dragons! I wonder what other surprises they have on that world of theirs, circling 'round Rukbat?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Awakening to the rude demands of a hungry firelizard was irritating on most days. But when Masterharper Robinton awoke the next morning, it seemed as if the sunlight was going to murder him through his eyeballs on top of it. So he lay under the furs, for much longer than was usual for him, with one forearm over his eyes. It did nothing to ease the pounding of his head. Nor did Zair's chattering.

So, finally, as Zair's actions became more and more provoking with nips and wing-jabs and an array of ghastly noises, Robinton finally crawled himself vertical and leveraged himself upright into a sitting position, feet planted on the ground, hands planted on the mattress, and head hanging.

He nearly lost his stomach from this movement, as pain spiked in his temples and throbbed at the base of his neck. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a hangover this severe, but it certainly hadn't been after quaffing reds. Reds were fine for him. It was the whites that did him in. Yet he hadn't had a drop of white last night. Only the finest Benden reds.

Zair landed on his now-upright bare shoulder, and scratched him. He pushed the bronze firelizard off. Zair soared off into the other room, scolding his Master as he went. Robinton couldn't care less. The creature couldn't even respect the sanctity of his pounding head.

The interesting thing about this, though, was that as he moved tongue around lips and teeth, his mouth wasn't _nearly_ foul enough to warrant this painful state he was in.

So he concluded it had something more to do with the appropriation of his body by...by...that man Jeff last night, than anything to do with wine. Even though he for once in his life had taken someone else's advice and eaten all the fruit and sweets and other offerings Brekke and Manora brought to him, until he had been positively stuffed. His head hadn't pounded _then_.

Perhaps he needed to eat again. With a dinner that immense he usually would go without breakfast, but if food would ease the pounding of his head, he would try it. With a groan, he leveraged himself to his feet, and arranged the furs around his waist just enough to protect his modesty, tucking a corner over and under to make it secure. Then, with tired, worn movements that made him feel turns and turns older than he was, he tottered into his office to see if Silvina had left something to eat on the glass top of his sandtable.

He found Menolly and Sebell both waiting for him, worriedly ensconced on one of the leather couches. The sunlight streaming into the room told him that it was well past morning. For all of that, there was nothing edible on his desk.

Both of his Journeymen jumped to their feet when he appeared. At the same time, Zair came streaking back in the window, and, seeing his Master standing—

—let out an ear-piercing _shriek_ for food.

The Harper's head attempted to split in two.

"SILENCE, YOU GLUTTONOUS CHARLETAN!" Robinton roared at the top of his well-trained lungs. Both his Journeymen jumped hard enough to make sounds, and every single firelizard in the room, Zair and Kimi and Beauty and a few visitors besides, vanished _between_ in a fright. In fact, half the sounds of the busy Harper Hall out the window ceased as well at the Masterharper's cry, and much of the Hall held its breath for what could come next.

Shouting was not perhaps the healthiest thing for Robinton do, as the pounding of his head after that effort of volume increased twofold, if it was still possible for that to happen with his head still firmly attached to his neck. So he closed his eyes and took a long, steadying breath through his nose, then muttered, in a decidedly anti-climatic way, "His hunger can't possibly rival my head at this moment."

"Shall I get you some fellis, Master?" Journeyman Menolly asked him, her voice concerned.

"Not fellis. I need to stay awake. I would like some food. Fruit. Sweet things. Klah. A lot of klah. What else was it he told me to eat?"

"I wasn't there, but I saw what Brekke and Manora gave you afterwards, sir," Journeyman Sebell said.

"Yes. That. Perhaps it will help. Menolly. Feed Zair please. If you can find him. If he hasn't gone _between_ all the way to Southern or some such."

"Yes sir."

"I'm going to go bathe," Robinton pronounced, and turned and hobbled back to his sleeping quarters, which had a bathing room attached.

#

An hour later, Robinton was washed, clothed, fed, and sitting on one of the leather couches with a head that still pounded as abysmally as before. It hurt so much that he couldn't find the energy to dismiss Sebell and Menolly, even though if they hovered any nearer they would both be trying to sit on his lap. Zair was nowhere to be found, and with each second that passed, Robinton was intensely aware that his next meeting with...Earth Prime...at the agreed-upon time was drawing nearer.

He wasn't sure he would survive it.

In fact, he was moments away from begging both of his assistants to go find Masterhealer Oldive, and see if there was something, _anything_ that would ease his head without dulling his wits.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, concentrated on breathing, and resolutely did not say it.

Then, without warning, the intense pain eased, like a mother putting two blessedly cool fingers to his temples, and an involuntary "Oh!" of relief escaped his lips. His entire body relaxed.

_I am sorry,_ the intimidating presence Robinton expected he would know instantly for the rest of his life said. _A headache was to be expected, but not like this._

"Menolly, Sebell," Robinton said. They didn't spring alert, for they were already focused on him. He pointed one long finger at the doorway. "Go."

They hesitated.

He looked each one in the eye, his gaze no longer feeling bleary, but clear and undulled by pain. "Now."

Sebell rose to his feet at that tone, but Menolly continued to hesitate. "Who is he?" she asked, an odd note of awe in her voice.

_I am Earth Prime,_ Robinton heard the presence say, and it seemed Menolly did too. _I will not let your Master Robinton come to harm._

She glanced at Robinton again, then said, "Please don't." Then she turned and followed Sebell out, and closed the door behind her.

After they left, there was a moment of silence, both without and within Robinton's head. Then he was asked, _Did you eat high-energy foods?_

Which was such a mundane and humane question from the powerful mind that Robinton answered without thinking. "I did," Robinton said. "Redfruits, pie, sweetrolls. Wine."

_Ah_, the man said. _The headache caused in the wake of an intense mental link is caused by similar chemical reactions as the ones that occur when the body is in the process of removing excess alcohol. When you put the two together, you get a headache you're tempted to cure by removing your head from your shoulders._

"I _was_ considering that," Robinton said, a ghost of a smile drifting across his face. "And I will take your advice to avoid the wine for a bit, as saddening as it will be to me. Thank you. How is it that I have the use of my own mouth and body now, yet we are still speaking?"

_I did what I did yesterday for the benefit of those whose minds cannot "hear" me naturally._

"Yet," Robinton mused, "I heard quite a bit of things last night without actually hearing them," he said. "Your actions after I agreed to speak for you were abrupt," he said, slightly chidingly.

_Weyrwoman Lessa's actions were also swift,_ Jeff Raven said. _She noticed me almost as quickly as you let me in. Else I may have worked with you to ease it upon them._

Robinton noticed the "may" in that statement.

_You are the first "Harper" that has let me borrow his voice; the nuances of a situation where a skilled entertainer takes on another personality are quite different from a situation where my host could never, in a million years, perform a personality switch seamlessly through acting alone. Occam's Razor: the simplest chain of events with the least assumptions is most likely. You know how to act, therefore it is most probable that you are acting, not sharing your head with a man from the stars._ There was the sense of a warmly amused smile._ That was something we had to work around. I've also found that a rapid change in personality is more likely to invoke compassion in the onlookers, so they are more apt to take care of my host properly once I am gone._

"I see." Robinton thought about it for a moment, realized this Jeff Raven could probably hear what he was thinking just like a dragon, and moved his thoughts onto a new topic. "So I can 'hear' you _naturally_, as you say?"

_Yes._

"So those who _can't_ hear you naturally...they can't hear you at _all_, if you try to speak to them as we are speaking? As if they are deaf in some way?" Robinton knew he had a lot ahead of him in terms of discussing what had happened last night with the others who had been present; he wanted to know what they had witnessed, and what they had not.

A hesitation. _Understand that there are different levels of abilities among telepaths._

"That seems reasonable," Robinton said, and rolled the word around his mind. Telepath. An ability he had been aware of for many turns, but which had never really been named until now. "Very understandable. A person who can hum a simple teaching ballad won't necessarily be able to compose a sonata."

_There are issues with that metaphor if you stretch it too far, but at the simplest level, that works. We rank the strength of our abilities by letter and number; a T-12 is the least powerful among us. A T-1, the most powerful. A T-12 telepath would be the equivalent of someone touching your arm and whispering in your ear. It is usually more practical for them to just open their mouths and speak, if they need to communicate with someone, rather than use telepathy. A T-9 can be heard across a large room, or a small building. It is good for when they need to speak to another telepath nearby without walls getting in the way. A T-5 could stand on one of your moons and be heard by another telepath anywhere on the surface of Pern. A T-3 would be able to speak to another telepath in another star system, but only the star systems within their range. A T-2 could do the same, but the star systems within their 'reach' would be expanded. A T-1 can reach anywhere within the known universe._ A pause. _We call our T-1s Primes._

Robinton's mind boggled. The lower levels made sense. A close-by whisper of thought—like the nattering of a firelizard on one's shoulder. A shout across a room or Hall, done via mind instead of voice, like the speech of a dragon suddenly bestowed upon you without warning. Robinton slowly nodded to himself. He'd seen such feats performed. Even the idea of a person standing on the moon and shouting down to Pern's surface made sense with what he had observed—Menolly herself had been woken a couple of turns back from a deep sleep by F'nor landing on the Red Star and Brekke's cry of fear.

But—star systems? He wasn't sure he could comprehend what one of their T-3s or T-2s did. He was familiar with Wansor's star charts from a layman's perspective, but he didn't have the mathematics to really _understand_ the distances involved. He wondered what Wansor would say, when confronted with this knowledge.

_He might confirm that it's a very long distance indeed,_ Jeff Raven said drolly.

_You said you were the Mastertalent. Are you the strongest of all the Primes?_

There was a pause, then Robinton had the sense of an enigmatic smile. _You're a little underpowered when you send; you may be a receiver only._

Robinton knew a dodge when he heard one—and he couldn't fault the man for it. It was a nosy question. At least the man had the courtesy though to distract his question with an interesting statement, though. "How do you mean?"

_Not all telepaths can both send thoughts and receive them. You seem to be a double-empath, but only a receiving telepath. I'd say for certain if I was able to test you properly. And as for your original question...any Prime can make a non-Talent hear us. But it's difficult and uncomfortable for both parties, and the person forced to "hear" in this way goes away with a cruel headache. You've had that experience._

"Yes indeed," Robinton murmured to the empty room, and to the man in his mind.

A terrible curiosity arose in Robinton as he digested what he'd been told. He felt rather like a young apprentice first brought into a Hall, exposed to wonders of knowledge he had never known to exist, but now wished to posses. But he'd been contacted, more or less, in his role as a _Harper_. A teacher, a negotiator, a man that needed to gather knowledge to bring Hold, Craft, and Weyr together to address this...this...

He wasn't sure what to call it. Nothing quite like this had ever happened in the history of Pern. Being contacted, with no preparation, by an intelligent voice in his head who claimed to be from another star. Dragons spoke in your head—but you could see them. You could touch them, if they let you. You could look their riders in the eye.

You could do none of this with this strong mental presence. The mind that could squish him like an insect.

_But..._the presence had a name. A humanizing name. Jeff Raven.

Perhaps he should use it.

"What do you look like, Jeff Raven?" Robinton asked, wagering on a hunch.

There was a pause, and the hunch paid off. A moment later, Robinton received a very firelizard-like image in his mind...that is, if the firelizard actually had a human-like clarity of thought and purpose.

Jeff Raven was a surprisingly young man, to Robinton's "eyes". Twenty turns? A youthful thirty? He was of medium height, with extremely short black hair, shorter than even what the dragonriders wore, cut in a precise but alien style. His skin was fair, and his eyes blue. He was not a handsome man; his face could be said to have strong character, instead. His clothing was of a very old cut as well—something out of Master Zurg's costuming archives, all straight lines and subtle angles with very little detail or decoration. So old, in fact, that most Pernese wouldn't have recognized it as being old at all, but merely alien.

There was a chuckle in Robinton's head. _I am in my forties. Although I appreciate the compliment! What do you look like, Masterharper Robinton?_

A fair question. Robinton rose, and found a small mirror in his bedchambers. Bringing it out into his office, he looked into it, and then composed the image in his head, like he would when directing Zair to fly _between_ somewhere specific.

There was a glimmer of surprise from Jeff Raven, although Robinton did not know why. Then, like a gate had been momentarily opened, or a veil lifted—

_ —Robinton saw himself, through another man's mind—_

_ —kind blue eyes—_

_ —grandfatherly, even—_

_ —A hundred years of age? A hundred and ten?—_

_ —pale skin, slightly tanned and weathered from the sun or from years of living...silver, wavy hair, worn in a relatively long and loose style—_

_ —clothing that looked expensive and boutique, well-cut, made by hand with natural materials...a style that used layering, but not overdone like some cultures were to Jeff's eye; undershirt, overtunic—_

_ —ethnic-looking—_

Robinton did not understand all of the impressions he received about himself from Jeff Raven, but they gave him something to mull over. There were hints in there, knowledge he just had to _learn_ how to interpret Such as how Prime Jeff overstated his age, if years and turns were anything similar. What did it mean that he erroneously thought Jeff Raven a very young man, and was seen in return as ancient?

Very interesting.

And so was the way that veil seemed to drop again, and the rapid-fire of half-thoughts and emotions ceasing. Although not without a slight apology for the over-estimation of Robinton's age.

"And what does your world look like?" Robinton asked.

Another pause, this one much longer. _Are you sure?_

An interesting response, tinged with reluctance. How different could their worlds be?

Jeff Raven did not respond to that. _This is a view through the window of my office, located at Earth Tower._

An image formed in Robinton's head.

"What—what am I looking at?" Robinton said, after a moment. The only things he recognized were sky and clouds.

The image quickly faded away.

"No, let me see it again—please."

The image reformed.

After a while of staring at it, he still couldn't find a point of reference other than the sky that he really, _truly_ understood. But a sense of awe crept over him. And a feeling of huge responsibility towards his people. "If...if you have all of that...that you showed me, outside of your window...and a...a Crafthall, your FT&T, of individuals like you...who can span the stars with your minds, although I don't entirely comprehend the full meaning of that just yet...why are you becoming involved with _us_?"

_ I am limited in what I am able to say to that question, given that it's a topic that touches on more people and more concerns and stakes than those of just you and I as individuals. I would say, vaguely and without substance I realize, that our discovery of your existence is an "opportunity". But how that opportunity unfolds depends on the men and women involved in these discussions. I would say, though, from a personal perspective, that the world of my birth, Deneb, is much like your own in some ways—and also vastly different in others. But the benefits it takes from interacting with the rest of the Nine Star League are in my personal opinion, quite priceless. It has access to advanced knowledge; people can go offworld for training, such as medical, Healer, training, and return to pass on what they learn. It has access to aid. Deneb...was affected by a disaster that killed millions of people—_

Robinton's mind boggled again. Millions?

_—but with the aid of outside resources, medicines, manpower, and more, it overcame hardship that surely would have decimated the colony for generations._

"Plague?"

Another pause. _Disease tolls were lower than they would have been without external aid._

Robinton thought of Moreta's Ride—and of the many, many plagues from the past that didn't have a Moreta to ease their devastation. "And what does your Deneb do for this Nine Star League in return?"

_It has numerous natural resources—minerals, elements, its unique zoology. Its people, its culture and music._

"And Pern would be asked for the same?"

_Each planet is unique in what it offers and accepts. Again, that is a topic broader than just you or I._

"Yes," Robinton said slowly. "I'm beginning to see of the shape of all this."

_Then our conversation has been productive._

"Productive like putting my bare toe in the ocean and finding it cold and vast," Robinton muttered.

There was a burst of amusement from Earth Prime, which swept Robinton up like a wave until he found himself ruefully chuckling too.

"Let me...I need...I need to talk to many people. How will I—reach you, if necessary?"

_Let us set another time, perhaps a regular time, to speak, and at that predetermined time, I will reach out to you, as I have today._

"Will a sevenday from now, at the same time, be convenient?"

_Yes. I will reach out to you then._ A pause. _Be careful with your Talent. It's not unusual for an ability that has been slumbering for most of a person's life to suddenly blossom a little out of control when it is finally acknowledged, or when it comes into contact with another person with the same, but stronger, gift. You may want to find a get-away where you can go to be far from other people, so you can be alone in your own head._

"Thank you for the warning." An interesting one, to be sure.

And with that, the heavy presence of Earth Prime was gone.

"Alone in my own head," he mused to himself. "Speaking of which..._Menolly!_"

His door popped open, quickly enough that she had to have been standing right there, awaiting his summons. "Sir?"

"Did you find Zair?"

"Yes sir. We fed him too."

"I need to make my apologies then, if he allows me to."

Menolly and Sebell both entered the room, and Sebell had Zair occupying the shoulder opposite of Kimi. Zair gave him a sulky look, and then literally moved around on Sebell's shoulder so that his winged back was presented to Robinton.

"I do believe I'm going to have to grovel to win him back," Robinton said, running apologetic fingers down the little bronze's spine, and scratching exactly where he knew his little friend would enjoy it. Zair still sulked. "Menolly—would you mind fetching me a pot of klah? This may take some time."

"Of course, Master."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Lord Jaxom watched his once-mentor and former guardian Lytol out of the corner of his eye as they strolled together through the halls of Benden Weyr towards a meeting chamber where a certain handpicked group of people were gathering.

One of the unexpected benefits to being confirmed (finally) as Lord Holder of Ruatha had been the easing of worry and stress lines in the old ex-dragonrider's face as Jaxom had taken up and proven himself competent in the daily duties of the Lord Holder of Ruatha. So it worried him that today the older man looked tired again in a way that Jaxom hadn't seen in a couple of months, and it worried him even more that Lytol also seemed reluctant to say anything about it. Even Ruth had no insight into what was making those stress lines re-appear, except to say that _everyone_ was worried.

"Good evening, Lord Jaxom, Lytol," the pleasant baritone voice of Master Robinton greeted them as they walked towards each other in the hall. Oddly enough, Robinton seemed to be moving _away_ from the meeting rooms instead of towards them.

Lytol stopped the Harper with a touch to the sleeve. "And how are you, Robinton?" Lytol asked, his gaze flicking back and forth between each of Robinton's eyes, as if searching for something. Jaxom was somewhat surprised by the intensity of the look Lytol was giving to the Harper.

"Better than I was this morning," Robinton said with a note of amusement in his tone. "Thank you for asking."

_The Harper had a headache this morning,_ Ruth told Jaxom, when Jaxom shot him a nebulous, querying thought. _The Harper Hall firelizards say he shouted terribly at them._ Ruth hesitated for a moment. _What's a "gluttonous charlatan"?_

_...a greedy faker?_ Jaxom offered dubiously.

"What was that, Lord Jaxom?" Robinton asked.

"Excuse me?" Jaxom said.

"I'm afraid I was woolgathering. You said something about a greedy—?" Robinton cocked his head to the side, inquiringly, as if he didn't quite believe what he had heard.

_Did I say that out loud?_ Jaxom asked Ruth, his ears starting to turn red. Lord Holder now or not, Robinton had still been one of his teachers growing up, and he respected the old Harper immensely despite that they were now, technically, the same rank.

Robinton, who was looking directly at Jaxom at that moment, dropped his eyes to Jaxom's lips, then suddenly turned away, an expression of comprehension darting across his mobile features. "My _sincere_ apologies, Lord Jaxom. I did not mean to intrude." He sounded slightly mortified.

"He _changed_ you, didn't he?" Lytol suddenly asked, the question coming sudden and hard, tumbling over some internal barrier bluntly. "Like Weyrwoman Lessa was afraid of."

"I'm afraid I've lost the thread of this entire conversation," Jaxom said, baffled. "If I even had it to begin with."

"It's, it's noth—" Robinton began, waving a hand irritably before visibly through sheer force of will or training smoothing a more pleasant expression over his face.

Lytol turned to his former ward. "You were...speaking to Ruth? A few moments ago?" Lytol asked Jaxom.

Jaxom hesitated, surprised that Lytol would even mention it given the lengths the ex-dragonrider would sometimes reach to avoid mentioning his white dragon Ruth, then nodded.

Lytol turned to Robinton. "And you heard him?"

Jaxom was shocked to see Robinton's cheeks begin to turn faintly red. He'd _never_ seen the Harper loose his composure before. Not in shame, at least.

"I, uh, it was a mistake," the Harper said. "A grave mistake. I did not do it on purpose." He caught Jaxom's gaze. "Once again, I _am_ very sorry."

"Interesting," Lytol said. Then, he reached up to grip Robinton's shoulder and give it a small shake of solidarity, showing the ex-Lord Warder of Ruatha was perhaps not as callous as his terse questions might draw him to be.

Robinton seemed to hiss in a breath at the man's touch, however, and without warning he shrugged out from under Lytol's grip and muttered, "Tell the weyrleaders I'll be back," before retreating down the hall, away from them towards the outside, his long legs moving him along very quickly.

Lytol watched him leave, a frown pulling the lines of his scarred face into an even more severe configuration than usual.

"He heard Ruth?" Jaxom asked.

"Perhaps he heard Ruth too," Lytol allowed. "But I think he responded to _you_."

Jaxom blinked. Then blinked again, trying to align the implications here with what he already knew of Robinton. Had the implication come from anyone else, he would have accused them of having too much wine at best, or a blatant attempt at slander at worse. Robinton had heard _his_ thoughts? Right in his head like Ruth? Since it _did_ come from the mouths of two men he trusted, he wasn't sure what to think, and it left him a little unbalanced. "Oh," he said finally. "I wasn't calling _him_ a greedy faker, I was translating a phrase for Ruth."

At that, Lytol laughed. Jaxom felt incredibly discomforted.

Lytol looked at his expression, and, oddly for a man who was quite possibly the least garrulous on all of Pern, laughed even harder. "I'm sure he's been called worse in the past, and if that's the least of what he's called _this_ evening, I would be _very_ surprised. He can handle it, lad. He can handle it." The laughter faded. "He _has_ to handle it. We _all_ do."

Jaxom felt a frisson of fear from the faint, faint tone of hysteria inside his old mentor's words.

Without clarifying his cryptic remark, or saying anything further, reassuring or otherwise, Lytol gave Jaxom a gentle shove into the meeting chamber.

#

Lessa sucked on a thumb that was bleeding from a fine, near-invisible cut the thick tome had given her. It stung something fierce for such a small wound. Then she sternly told herself to disregard it, for F'lar's sword-hand was lightly bound today in bandages slathered in very weak numbweed, and a small papercut was nothing compared to _that_. The man from the stars, Jeff Raven, had somehow managed to lightly burn the shape of the sword's grip into F'lar's palm. Lessa was furious about it, but F'lar thoughtfully likened it to the sort of burn one got from sipping too-hot klah, or staying out in the sun too long in the summer. The main oddity was the regular pink shape of it across his palm. "He made the steel jump," F'lar explained, then seemed irritated because that wasn't quite a proper explanation. "The essence of steel. He chafed it like you chafe your hands to keep them warm, except it began to burn. I should have dropped it, as he expected me to, but I held on." He had smiled wryly for a moment, before it faded under the weight of heavier thoughts. "I was stubborn."

_As we should be,_ Lessa mused to herself. _If we don't stand up for ourselves—our planet!—who will? _And with the same stubbornness, she turned herself back to the tome and its alien lettering and words. About a quarter of those words were entirely indecipherable, with another quarter only readable with many assumptions and much wracking of her brain to try to guess the meanings from context.

Where was Robinton, anyhow? She would have to sit with him and see if he really could translate this. Frowning, she glanced around the room. Next to her, Mastersmith Fandarel was having fun with the box the tome had been enclosed in. Or at least, he seemed to be having fun, from the grunts and soft exclamations and the expressions drifting across his face as he turned the box over and over in his large hands, testing its strength against force and scratches. On Fandarel's other side was Master Wansor, and Lessa wondered if the Star Smith had any way of confirming what the Nine Star League was, or _where_ it was. Perhaps he could make sense of this book? Lessa flipped through it, and saw some diagrams that seemed to be labeled as star charts.

There was a soft chirp a few minutes later, but when Lessa raised her eyes to search for the intruder, it was no longer there. Instead, she saw a few others enter the chamber: Brekke, Manora with a spread of goodies to eat, and F'nor looking pensive as he strode in the wake of his wife and mother. Robinton's two Journeyman Harpers, Menolly and Sebell, had just arrived as well, although Robinton himself was not in attendance. Lessa wasn't all that sure it was right to include them in something of this importance, being as they were only Journeymen...but on the other hand, if they were here tonight in such a self-assured fashion, Master Robinton had surely intended it purposely, for reasons of his own. And at least Menolly's gibbering faire of firelizards was nowhere to be seen, that lone chirp aside.

"Is your Master about?" she asked the Harpers.

"He's on his way, Weyrwoman," Journeyman Sebell assured her.

Lessa nodded and refocused on the tome.

A few minutes later, Lord Groghe of Fort Hold arrived, stomping in and scanning the room for some idea of why he had been summoned, as he had not been one of the original people confronted last night by "Jeff Raven". Then Lytol was also there, and Lord Jaxom.

Lytol spotted Lessa where she sat at the table, and came over to her. "Robinton stepped out for a breath of air, but he said he will return," he told her, as N'ton discreetly entered the room behind them and took a seat next to Lord Groghe.

Lessa glanced around. Everyone but F'lar and D'ram were present and waiting or talking quietly to one another. "Air? We're almost all here."

"Would you be so quick to revisit the memory of another person in your skin, using your mouth, using your hands?" Lytol murmured to her, his voice low so that it did not carry to Lord Groghe or anyone else who had not been with them last night just yet. Thankfully, Groghe was sitting next to Menolly on the other side of the room, and seemed to be talking about firelizards, although his golden Merga was not on his shoulder.

"He seemed fine afterwards," Lessa said. "Resilient. Hungry. We wouldn't have let him go home otherwise." If she or her queen dragon Ramoth had said the word, no dragon would have flown the Harper anywhere.

Lytol was quiet for a moment. "He had contact with something none of us—"

"And so did I," Lessa said a little curtly. "The man in Robinton's skin spoke to me directly, in my mind."

Lytol's shoulders drooped a bit. "Robinton is not a dragonrider, Weyrwoman. He is not used to a voice in his head."

Lessa remembered the denseness of Jeff Raven's contact, thought of how intimidating it might be, and put a hand on Lytol's arm. "I know. I'm not wroth with the Harper. I'm wroth with this whole…whole…and it's just strange that his timing is off. He's usually perfect." She thought about Jeff Raven again, and glanced over at Menolly and Sebell. Administrative support, like she had presumed—or moral support? She narrowed her eyes. She _had_ thought Robinton was holding up well...but if he wasn't...she'd find a way to make "Earth Prime" pay for it, steel barrier around his mind or not. _Ramoth, how is the Harper?_

_Tired,_ Ramoth said. And nothing more.

She sighed, and Lytol moved away to sit next to Jaxom.

Weyrleader D'ram of Ista and F'lar came in next, murmuring to each other. Then D'ram said to the room in general, "Master Robinton will be here shortly, we saw him on our way in."

"Well, tell him to hurry it up," Lord Groghe said. "What is this about, anyway?" Lord Groghe's slightly protuberant blue eyes scanned the room, noting who had been invited to this meeting at Benden Weyr, and who had not.

Surprisingly, it was Menolly who answered the Lord of Fort. "Interesting things," she said cryptically.

Groghe frowned at her, but whether it was because of her answer, or because she had spoken out of turn before her betters, Lessa did not know.

Finally, Master Robinton appeared in the doorway, with Zair sitting on his shoulder encircling his throat with his tail like a bronze torc. He was the only one who had brought a firelizard to the meeting. "My apologies for the delay, everyone," he said solemnly. "Is everyone here?"

"For now, anyhow," F'lar said.

Robinton didn't take a seat. Instead, he walked around the table towards a corner of a room, and drew out a partitioned slate on wheels, the one that F'lar would sometimes draw upon when discussing threadfighting strategies with his wingleaders. It had four tall blue-black slate panels set in a metal frame, and was smudged with incompletely erased drawings of dragons and flight paths. Robinton drew a plain cream handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped each panel clean.

Lessa had the odd sensation that he was using this to postpone turning around and actually speaking to them.

Robinton's hand paused in its motions, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. Then he abruptly stopped to glance at the Star Smith sitting next to Master Fandarel.

Wansor did not seem to notice; his attention was on placing a long carrying tube in a position where it would not roll and get under the feet of anyone.

Shifting his gaze instead to F'nor for a moment before going back to the board, Robinton said, "Several turns ago now, and with the help of Master Wansor here, we learned that the heavens move about in orderly, rational ways. Several turns ago now, F'nor and Canth used what Master Wansor taught us to jump to the Red Star, further proving the dots in the sky are real, physical places...if terribly inhospitable compared to our lovely world here." Robinton drew a circle on the board, made a rough approximation of the northern continent, entirely forgot the southern (F'lar caught Lessa's eye at that and they carefully did not grin at one another), and labeled the whole thing Pern in his lovely, flowing script. Then, from there, he filled in both moons, the Red Star, the Dawn Sisters, and the constellations.

This got Wansor's attention, and he pulled an odd device from his pocket, with two glass lenses in it and attached it to his face. Then he frowned. "Master Robinton—"

"—it's a _terrible_ drawing, I know," the Harper said almost before the protest had registered. "I'm using it for illustrative purposes only."

"Very well." Wansor's frown did not vanish.

Lessa smiled to herself at the exchange. Crafters. So prickly. She let Fandarel take the tome from her and pass it on to his craftsman to read.

"We were brought here for stars again?" Lord Groghe asked Lessa suspiciously, coming over to sit by her instead as Robinton mangled star charts in front of Wansor, food in his hands as well. "I thought we had that all sorted out. Thread hasn't changed, has it?"

"This has nothing to do with threadfall," Lessa assured the Lord quickly. "Master Robinton! Lord Groghe is on tenterhooks over here. And from the look on Lord Jaxom's face, Lytol has kept him in the dark too. Are you going to explain, or shall I, while you re-apprentice yourself as a Smith?"

There was a rumbling chuckle from Fandarel. "He can be a Smith. We'll find his clever fingers something to do."

"Are you _sure_ you want to unleash that on the world, Master Fandaral?" Sebell called out. "He's troublesome enough stringing notes together, much less cogs and steel!"

That got a chuckle out of the room.

"Lord Groghe," Robinton said, as he added more and more spots on the board, drew their traditional animal and plant-shapes around them, and, oddly enough, labeled some of them with other than their traditional names. "When was the last time you looked at the stars?"

"Last evening, after the Hatching."

Robinton turned. "Really?"

"Why would I lie, Harper?" Groghe said, widening his eyes in faux-innocence.

"Well you're no good for the purposes of my explanation. Let's pretend you haven't looked at them seriously for a while, like everyone else in this room except for Masters Wansor and Fandarel. Nose to the ground, watching the path we tread carefully lest we stick our foot in a tunnelsnake nest. Even with Master Wansor here, telling us to wake up—_look_ up!—most of us probably only do so to make sure thread isn't falling on our heads."

"Some people not even that," N'ton muttered. Several other dragonriders made sounds of agreement, a few dour, others amused.

"See this dot?" And Robinton pointed to the board, at a small, insignificant speck.

"Make it bigger," Groghe said, as he finished the food he was eating and then leaned back next to Lessa and crossed his arms.

"It's supposed to be small. Here, I'll draw you an arrow," and Robinton filled the board with a gigantic, elaborate arrow that even Wansor without his facial optics couldn't miss. "I've been told mankind originates here." And he stabbed a finger at the dot.

"What do you mean, 'mankind'?" the Fort Holder asked.

"Mankind!" Robinton turned threw his arms wide, waving the chalk around in one hand. "You, me, everyone on Pern, and our distant ancestors were descended from people who lived...here." He tapped the dot again with his chalk. The tap seemed to echo around the room.

"And how exactly do you know this?" D'ram, who also hadn't been present last night, asked.

"Would you believe that someone from this star came and spoke to me?" the Harper asked lightly.

D'ram, Lord Groghe, N'ton, and Jaxom looked at him as if were mad. But then they seemed realize they were the only ones who thought Robinton had snapped a string.

Robinton's expression turned very sober and serious. "As most of you in the room know, last night, at the Hatching, we met something...some_one_...who I believe to be a man. I have no tangible evidence yet, I admit, but let's call him a man for now."

"How can you meet an intangible man?" Jaxom asked.

"Very good question, Lord Jaxom." Robinton said. "We all know that dragons can speak in a person's thoughts, and to a lesser extent, firelizards can throw a jumbled array of nonsense at you. I was contacted in this way by this intangible man."

"Not by a dragon?" Jaxom asked.

Several of those who had been there quickly shook their heads, or said no.

"He spoke to me, too," Lessa said. "He was no dragon. Ask Ruth to confirm."

Lord Groghe sat back in his chair, and looked around the room. "Now wait—"

"Everyone in this room but you, Weyrleader D'ram, Lord Jaxom, N'ton, and Master Wansor witnessed this," Robinton said.

"How does one witness an 'intangible man' as you call it...speaking to you in your mind, Robinton?" D'ram asked. "Wouldn't that be like witnessing your dreams?"

"He wore Robinton like a puppet and spoke through his mouth," Lytol said, blunt.

Silence.

Then Lord Groghe cleared his throat. "I mean no disrespect, I've always considered myself lucky to have the Harper Hall in Fort territory instead of another Craft—but Robinton here _is_ a Harper. It's his job to put on a show," Groghe said. "Which he has been doing this afternoon, fancy drawings on the board and all."

"What part of 'this man spoke in my mind too' don't you understand, Lord Groghe?" Lessa asked. "Do you think I would lie about this? I hear all dragons. I also heard this man, and he was no dragon!"

"Most of us here witnessed it, Lord Groghe," F'lar confirmed, speaking for the first time that evening. All gazes switched to the yellow-eyed Weyrleader.

Lord Groghe raised his hands. "Peace. I'm only asking what any intelligent person would. I won't be the only one, I'm sure." He eyed Robinton. "Lytol says he wore you like a puppet?"

There was a sudden odd air in the room of embarrassment. Not, actually, from Robinton, but in something of the looks in the younger people's eyes—Jaxom, Menolly, Sebell. And anger, that something would do that to the Harper.

The Harper himself wore a mild expression, as if it never occurred to him to feel embarrassed about it. "He asked my permission, and his motives were sound. I consented to it. I'd do more than letting a man with no voice use my own if it averts meeting in armed conflict. If he hadn't moved at the speed of thought once I assented, I would have given a warning."

Lessa stared at Robinton, and remembered what he had said in the wake of the encounter. _Don't take this the wrong way, Lessa, because you are fierce beyond comparison...but I will never fear you for the strength of your mind alone again._ Had he _really_ assented? Or had fear been a motivation?

And also, _He was afraid of me?_ Robinton...had known? Had he felt her try to free him, or had he known...some other way? Or by mind did he simply mean personality?

"You still got buggered, Harper," Groghe said. "Pardoning everyone's ears."

The look Menolly shot the Lord of Fort was positively evil.

Lord Groghe caught it, and seemed rather taken aback that the woman would show her hostility so openly, and gave her a look of warning in return. She flushed and looked down at her rangy hands.

"Well, I see my purpose here for tonight," Groghe said. "The voice of dissent. Ha. I'd take my leave but if this isn't a Harper joke you're going to have to pry me out of here with a bar of iron."

"We appreciate your honesty as always, Lord Groghe," Robinton said.

"HA." He banged the table as he said it, making utensils jump.

"And it is no joke. Well," Robinton amended his words. "If it is, the joke is on me as well. If it is, I'm indeed over a barrel. So. That tome over there, which Master Wansor is currently consulting—"

Lessa briefly watched the man flip through the tome, spreading it wide at the star charts.

"—is the tangible proof he was here."

The ones who had not been around to look at it last night craned their heads to see.

"But it's largely illegible, except for the pictures," Lessa said.

"I can read it, with effort," Robinton said, mostly for the newcomers' benefit. "That is one of the things I was shown. I intend to teach how to my Journeymen Sebell and Menolly, who should from there be able to teach others." He paused. "I would like to have my Master Archivist look at it, too, but we only have the one...I may ask Jeff Raven for another," he said pensively.

"Jeff Raven?" D'ram asked.

"The man who made contact with us is named Jeff. 'Raven' is a sort of family second name. I suppose they take bloodlines fairly seriously. He runs a type of Crafthall for people with 'Talents' such as speaking mind-to-mind over vast distances, and moving objects _between_ to and fro. That tome appeared without aid of firelizard or dragon."

D'ram leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "He runs a Crafthall of mind-readers?"

"He runs a Crafthall of mind-_speakers_," Robinton said carefully. "They apparently facilitate communication and travel of people and goods between stars. Keep the Nine Star League running, like roads, drums, firelizards, and dragons keep trade and communication moving here."

"No, it's mind-readers, Masterharper," Lytol said. "Mind-alterers. He claimed they have an ethics code not to do such things, but can we trust that? If they can alter minds, cannot we say that they altered yours to make you believe you consented of your own free will to let him inhabit you? Lessa's question last night was a good one and it still stands; did he alter _you_?"

"Did he alter _you_?" Robinton shot back.

Lytol stared at him.

"Perhaps he altered F'lar, or Fandarel. Perhaps he lifted the locations of Master Zurg or Master Nicat, Lord Raid or Lord Larad, from our minds and altered _them_. This is a person who supposedly reaches with his mind from another _star_—I don't see how the distance between here and some other Hold or Hall would be a hindrance."

"Sophistry won't dodge the question, Robinton," Lytol said.

Robinton's tone hardened. "I wasn't indulging in sophistry, Lytol. I made light of their capabilities before, because panic is of no use to us, but Jeff Raven, and his Craft Masters, his _Primes_, _are_ capable of that. F'lar, Lessa—do either of you have a way of protecting a mind so that it cannot be tampered with? Do the Weyrs have this capability, D'ram?"

"No," F'lar said, his face grim.

"—No," Lessa said, almost simultaneously...although she felt, deep in her heart, that someone might have a difficult time of doing it to _her_. She would notice an intrusion.

"I'm not aware of it," D'ram said. "I was not aware one man could directly alter another man's mind at all. It's a troubling thought. No pun intended."

"So unless we find a promising avenue of research to pursue, we must proceed as if Earth Prime's word is honorable. Because we have no way of detecting such changes, or defense against them. Either our world has already been swiftly felled by men from the stars implanting new behaviors and thoughts in our brains, and there is no hope, or their interest in peaceful contact is genuine."

"—do we _know_ it's possible to _alter_ minds?" Jaxom suddenly asked. "Alter, not just read? Ruth reads my mind all the time; there's my proof for that. But he doesn't alter it."

There was silence around the room.

Lessa felt a sudden uncertainty, and her eyes darted to F'lar, who knew personally that it was possible. Then her eyes went to Robinton, for Jaxom's question was a good one. How could they convince skeptics that this was possible—without her revealing her own past deeds? Did Robinton have a trick up his sleeve?

Robinton looked at her, seemingly in response to her thought, and their eyes met for a long moment. She felt another fission of fear, and in response tilted her head up in a querying way, just the slightest bit. Did...he know? Was that what yesterday's comment about her mind was in reference to?

The Harper looked away. "I may have a way to prove this to you, Lord Jaxom."

She felt the first embers of anger. With the name of Pern on his lips, and its "greater good" he was going to betray her! Ramoth began to stir at her anger, awakening.

Robinton crossed the room to stand in front of Jaxom. "When Jeff Raven was preparing to leave me, and leave us, to return to where he came from, one of the things he mentioned was that I was the only one there that was both without dragon yet still with the potential to join his Craft. Do you remember my earlier apology in the hall, Jaxom?"

"I do," Jaxom said.

Robinton turned slightly to face the rest of the room. "Lord Jaxom was having a private, non-verbal conversation with Ruth earlier today. I mistook it as being directed at me."

"You can hear thoughts." This was D'ram.

"On a single hand, I can count the number of times I've had the good fortune to have a dragon speak to me. As I understand it, even once is one more time than ninety-percent of the non-dragonriders out there. But, up until today, I have never had the experience of mistaking a _human's_ thoughts as being spoken out loud. It was...unusual."

Sebell suddenly leaned over to get Jaxom's attention. "What did you say?" he asked Jaxom. "Or rather, think?"

"Ruth asked me what a 'gluttonous charlatan' was. I thought back to him 'greedy faker'. I believe Master Robinton erroneously thought it was directed at him."

The room burst into uproarious laughter. Except for Lessa, who still watched Robinton closely.

A rueful smile appeared on Robinton's face as he waited for everyone to settle back down. Then, into a perfect pause, he said, "You can believe _my_ surprise at hearing that."

More laughter, primarily from the two Journeyman Harpers, who seemed to find all of this even funnier than everyone else.

"However, I did have forewarning. Jeff Raven told me that I have slumbering abilities that may start to emerge, now that I had encountered him. I just didn't realize how quickly."

Lessa shifted in her chair. "You mean you can alter thoughts now?" She felt her anger melt away as she realized he wasn't going to spill her secret—if he knew it. He was going to spill his own.

Robinton shook his head at Lessa. "Probably not. And I am unwilling to try, even if I can. I do not wish that sort of curse. But he did mention empathy. Not empathy in the usual sense—but in the sense of knowing what a person is _feeling_, rather than thinking. As a Harper I've always used music to make people smile and frown, laugh and cry; this is not new. You could say, it is part of my duty. To make sure people remember how to feel and be human. But there's the possibility that I may be able to do this directly, now, without song. If I could demonstrate this with a willing participant—would you take that as evidence that thoughts can also be altered, Lord Jaxom?"

"I would say so, yes," he said, looking up at the Harper.

"Would you and Ruth trust me enough for you to be my willing participant?" Robinton asked, with a smile.

"What would you make me feel?" Jaxom asked.

"How about laughter?"

"All right," Jaxom said. "What do I need to do?"

"Just give me your hand," Robinton said.

Jaxom did so, and for a while, the pair of them were silent.

Time stretched on.

Robinton began to frown, while Jaxom stared up at the Masterharper with a patient, slightly amused but certainly not laughing, expression.

Then, behind Robinton, Lessa saw Menolly arise from her seat.

With exaggerated motions that everyone but Robinton, with his back to her, and Jaxom, with Robinton standing in the way, could see, Menolly tip-toed up behind Robinton. She paused, looked at everyone and winked—then shot forward, and in a gross lapse of Master-student etiquette stuck her fingers in the armpits of his tunic and _tickled_ him.

Robinton jumped and whirled around to face her, Jaxom's hand still clasped in his own, and stared. She gave her Master a small smile and a wave.

In the background Jaxom started to roar with laughter.

Nobody quite got what had happened until Robinton dropped Jaxom's hand, and suddenly it was _Robinton_ roaring in laughter, and Jaxom had stopped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Jaxom blinked in surprise, and massaged his hand.

"I must have the cleverest Journeywoman on Pern!" Robinton said when he stopped laughing himself. "How did you know?"

Menolly shrugged. "I feel what my firelizards feel. It only makes sense that for you to make Jaxom laugh, you had to be laughing yourself. And you weren't."

"But did you have to stick your fingers in my armpits?" Robinton asked.

Menolly suddenly turned red and self-conscious, while Sebell lowered his face into his hands and convulsed in silent chortling.

Robinton patted her on the shoulder and turned to Jaxom. "Was this demonstration sufficient?"

"Ah. Yes. Ruth liked to laugh, too, but he says it was abrupt."

Turning back to the rest of the room, Robinton gave a little bow with a flourish, to end the performance. Then he sobered considerably. "If I can manage _that_ in largely ignorance with a hand-touch and some tickling, I think there is some support that a people who have Masters of such techniques, Primes as they call them, can alter the thoughts of any one of us without effort. Therefore, as I said earlier, it makes the most sense at this time to presume their goodwill _is_ genuine, at least on some levels, and that I have not been compromised. Or else go mad with fear."

"Did you learn what they want from us?" F'lar asked. "For they surely want something. What they want, and how badly they want it, weighs on my mind."

"It weighs on mine too," Robinton said. "As does his comment that if we do not prove agreeable to work with, he may contact others. That is why I think it's imperative we find a way to announce this to the rest of our fellow Craftmasters, Lords, and Weyrleaders, so that _unified_ talks can go forward with these men from the stars, and we can ascertain their intents. And—develop our own. It was hinted to me we may be able to arrange an exchange of knowledge. Such as Healing knowledge. I think we would be foolish to ignore that possibility, although Healer I am not, and we should be careful of what deals we do or don't make. Right now they contact us from afar, so that the only recourse we have if things go foul is to shake our fists at them, suffer, and mutter curses. We must encourage them to approach us in person, so we can look in their eyes, and hopefully gather knowledge that isn't fed carefully to us, like we are children."

"Robinton," Lord Groghe said. "Have you considered your successor?"

Robinton stared at the man. "You truly _are_ being the voice of dissent tonight."

"You bring us tales of intangible men from the stars, who could read our thoughts and alter them, but who are _nice_ and _won't_. You admit to reading thoughts from _Lord_ Jaxom's mind. You make him laugh, even, against his natural inclination. You may have your lofty ethics and goals, Harper, and you are endlessly willing to believe the best of folks, but I will tell you if I had woken up one day with such gifts, there are a hundred, thousand times I would have _altered_ someone's thought, here and there, just so they would stop bloody arguing with me and see sense. It would make ruling a Hold so much easier. And nearly every one of my fellow Lord Holders would do the same. And so would the Craftmasters. And so would the Dragonmen."

Lessa silently agreed with Lord Groghe. But behind Robinton, Sebell began to speak.

Lord Groghe hushed him with a wave. "—no, no, no, I _believe_ Robinton. Having seen what I have with my eyes tonight, I believe. And our Robinton here _is_ an idealist, and as I said I've never had worries about the Harper Hall being within Fort Hold's boundaries. I still don't. But the goodwill of those of us in the room tonight won't be enough to save you, Robinton, if you walk among the rest of them and tell them you can hear a man's thoughts right in his head. It was foolish of you to tell us. Much less the rest of it with men from the stars, and the only proof a book only _you_ and your Harpers can read. We know you keep archives and archivists in the Harper Hall. Most men won't have the Crafting knowledge to know if that tome is made by one of your Master Archivists or not."

"Groghe's right," Lytol said. "You'll want different proof for the same arguments when we gather a Council of Lord Holders. Or else distance yourself from your Hall lest you take it down with you."

"And no-one will stand with me?" Robinton asked, a bit coolly, looking around the room.

"Nonsense," Lessa said. "Of course we will stand with you. We saw what happened. And the ones that didn't have some proof tonight."

"But people shoot the messenger," Fandarel rumbled. "And you have a very big message."

Robinton lowered his head. "I may be able to come up with additional proof within a sevenday. Earth Prime intends to keep in contact with us. Shall we re-convene eight days from now?"

There were murmurs of assent.

"And in the meantime, Master Fandarel, can you and Master Wansor give us an idea as to the capabilities of Jeff Raven's people, with that tome and the star charts within?"

"I will do my best," the Mastersmith said.

Wansor said nothing, still absorbed in the tome.

Fandarel gave him a nudge.

"What?" The man looked up and squinted around the room. Then he gave a huge number, in dragonlengths. "That's how far we are from Altair, which this book shows to be our closest 'inhabited' neighbor. Yes, yes, I can find out more with time, these charts are fascinating, solve a few problems I hadn't figured out yet on my own..."

"Thank you, Master Wansor. Your findings will prove invaluable in establishing to everyone else just what sort of people we're dealing with. Eight days time. At Benden?" he asked.

"Yes," F'lar said.

And with that, men and woman began to stir, grab more food, and murmur to one another about what Robinton had said and shown to them that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Afra Lyon sat at his console, long fingers nimbly entering a few belated entries into Callisto Moonbase's shipment tracking system while the heavy Tower dynamos wound down to rest for the night, so that neither the Rowan nor Brian Ackerman would blow a gasket when they came into the Tower the next morning. With a bit of amusement, held carefully behind shields, Afra wondered if the Prime and the Stationmaster knew that they had this one trait in common.

Probably not, Afra decided after a moment. He was usually good about cleaning up the loose administrative ends that inevitably occurred when you were telekinetically throwing hundreds of shipments across the universe on a daily basis. He could handle the Rowan with her moods hanging low over the Tower like one of the environmental systems gone wrong. He could also handle Ackerman with his breaking points and cries of, "I've had _enough_ of her! I'm resigning! And I don't _care_ what booze they send me this time, or how much they beg me to stay. The Prime can _kiss_ my pasty-pale round Terran a—" But even a Methody green-skinned Capellan like him had trouble juggling both at the same time, so it was an act of self-preservation to make sure everything was perfect for them next shift.

A few moments later, Afra had finished preserving the peace and preserving the FT&T's cargo audit trail, and whirled his couch around on its strong central bearing in preparation to leave and take a dip in the moonbase's pool to relax.

Jeff Raven was standing there, watching him.

Afra gazed up at the Rowan's husband in mild surprise. It wasn't often anyone could sneak up on him. Not even Primes. "Good evening, Jeff."

"Hello Afra. Do you have a moment?"

"Of course," Afra said politely, wondering why, and how long, Jeff had been waiting here for him to finish, and why Afra hadn't noticed him. Was something being changed in the Tower? Had Damia gotten up to something again that Jeff didn't quite know how to handle?

"The pool, right?" Jeff asked.

Afra had shielded even more tightly on reflex when he'd seen Jeff, but obviously Earth Prime had been savvy enough to pick up Afra's intended destination before then. "Yes," he said, pulling himself to his full, lengthy height.

"You and your pools," Jeff said, shaking his head. "If you weren't _you_, and the selection on the moonbase practically incestial, I'd think you were trying to get attention from the fairer sex."

"But I am me, and the selection _is_ slim." Afra glanced at Jeff. "Swimming's better than a stationary bicycle."

"I won't disagree with that."

They walked out of the Tower section of the moonbase into the private side of the base, where crewmembers and their families made their homes under the sinister eye of Jupiter. Jeff didn't say anything for a while, and Afra watched him out of the corner of his eye—Jeff's shields were too tight for even a strong T-3 telepath to see past—and wondered.

"I haven't told my wife I am talking to you about this yet," Jeff began.

"If your intention is to frighten me, you've succeeded," Afra said.

Jeff let out a bark of laughter. "Ha! No, no, it's..." He sighed. "What do you think about dragons?"

Afra thought about that for a moment, then withdrew a piece of yellow paper from his breast pocket, and spent a few moments folding it. Then he handed the little result to Jeff, and while the man held it, Afra reached down to tug on its tail, making the wings flap. "That's what I think about dragons," Afra said.

"I wonder what a dragon would think of _this_?" Jeff said, idly turning the little piece of origami back and forth. Then he set it carefully on his own shoulder like a small pet. "Would you like to _meet_ a dragon?"

Afra eyed Jeff, but the charismatic man seemed in earnest, his blue eyes bright. "Is 'dragon' some sort of euphemism for a woman the Rowan really wouldn't like?" Afra asked, wondering if this was yet another misguided attempt to be matchmaker. "You really want my genes in the FT&T pool, don't you?"

Jeff broke into laughter again. "I do! But this isn't an attempt at that. If I was really that desperate I could just scrub the pool filters,"

At this, Afra's general goodwill broke a bit, and he turned his head to stare at Earth Prime.

Jeff seemed taken aback at Afra's sudden hostility, then he realized what was going on in Afra's head, despite Afra's shields. "Oh, I—no. _Skin_ cells, Afra. Hair. Never mind; I spoke without thinking. No offense intended, truly," and Afra felt a touch in his mind to prove Jeff's apology was genuine.

"Hm," Afra said, somewhat mollified.

Jeff scrubbed a hand over his face, then shook his head as if to rattle _that_ misunderstanding clean out of it. "I don't suppose you've heard about what Jeran found?"

"I heard he found something; I do not know what it is. Damia thinks I do, though," Afra said with a subtle smile on his handsome face.

"Does she? Has she been pestering you? Ha. Well, you know _now_, so perhaps her efforts won't be in vain. He found a lost human colony."

"Interesting," Afra said, trying to connect this fact with "dragons" and "don't tell the Rowan".

"And on this _colony_, there are a bunch of 'dragonriders', who are telepathically bonded to a dragon-esque native alien species. _Telepathically._"

Afra tried to digest this for a moment, blond brows meeting, and couldn't. "Jeff—how is it possible that there's a 'lost' human colony in the first place? Every single planetary colonization effort has gone through the FT&T, and if one had been lost, we'd all know about it, and frantic that it not happen again each time one of those liners packed full of colonists go out."

"_Very_ good question. Do you want to go find out for me?"

_You're shifting me from Callisto Tower?_ Afra asked on a tight telepathic band, it suddenly becoming crystal clear why he wasn't to tell the Rowan of this conversation.

_Aha-ha-ha. Yes. I'd rather present her with a done deal if you're interested, else she'll try to influence what should be your decision alone, just because she doesn't want to do without the 2IC she's had for over twenty years. But it's your choice. I'd want a change of pace after twenty years—I _do_ actually—but since I don't have that option, I'll give it to you. You'd be part of some of the initial telepathic contacts with myself and Gren and some of the Pernese telepaths, and then you and Gren would be included in the preliminary ground contact team._

_Gollee and I both?_

Jeff gave a half-smile. _Telepathic sentient dragons. I know you claim a barque cat spoke to you once, but this is the real deal. As I told Gren, this _is_ an FT&T affair, no matter what the League and Military fellows may think, and there's nobody I trust more than the two of you._

"I'll go," Afra said.

_Oh-ho-ho. Not so fast! I can't tell Rowan you didn't take half a second to consider before agreeing. She'll have _both_ our hides then!_

Afra gave Jeff an irritated look. _I'll be back. How could I ever feel at home without a red planet looming overhead, glaring balefully down at me?_ He asked, pointing a green-skinned finger up at Jupiter, which was indeed doing just that above them outside the domes.

"Oh don't remind me. It still makes me feel like I'm falling."

"No it doesn't," Afra said with the certainty of a telepath.

Jeff gave him an easy grin. "Can't fool you, can I? Excellent, then. My best two Talents, exactly where I need them."

"You tell everyone they're the best, don't you?" Afra said.

"Yes...but in your case it's genuine." Jeff rested a hand on Afra's shoulder in that very non-Talent manner of his and squeezed. "Tomorrow Cera's coming back here to take over your duties, if you could refresh her memory on them. She's good at route memorization, but this should cement it as active knowledge. Damia is going to Earth with me for some daddy-daughter bonding while we fling cargo containers the size of asteroids everywhere—"

Afra snorted, knowing exactly why Damia wasn't going to be the one on Callisto. The turbulent mother/daughter dynamics would make the entire Tower crew have a breakdown, particularly without someone around to mediate.

"And tomorrow evening, we'll say hello again to Masterharper Robinton. And hopefully, Weyrwoman Lessa as well." He paused. "You're not offended by wearing a net for a EEG during the contacts? Something this big, they want 'paperwork', even if it's utterly useless."

"I'll do what's required of me," Afra said, although he wasn't all together fond of wearing nets.

"Great," Jeff said. "Hey," he added, taking the little yellow origami dragon off of his shoulder. "Do you mind if I re-gift this?"

#

Pale, pastel green, blue, and yellow, overlaid with swooping ink marks and medleys of dots in deepest black, and the taste of aged, fine red wine.

This is what the mind of the Masterharper of Pern felt like to Afra Lyon, as the three Talents lay on couches in Earth Tower, mentally reaching out to Pern.

Jeff Raven had introduced Afra and Gollee a little earlier than they had planned; Masterharper Robinton was more sensitive to nuance this time around, and detected additional minds in the merge immediately upon contact, even though in the prior contact done by Jeff and Gollee, Robinton had only sensed Jeff. They had been afraid if they denied there were two more Talents present today the talks would go quickly sour. But it had turned out all right once Gollee and Afra had named themselves—although this man, "the Harper" as the murmuring minds in his Hall around him whispered—did have the peculiar request of "seeing" them once they introduced themselves.

_Humor him,_ Jeff said. _Or I will, and I'm sure neither of you will like the images I send._ His 'pathed words were backplated with the sense of drunken secrets Jeff had somehow found about or witnessed.

_Now wait a minute, that's blackmail—_Gollee said, despite a grin on his face as he fingered the yellow origami dragon that had apparently been re-gifted from Jeff to him.

_—he's lying,_ Afra told Gollee. _Or at least he is for me._

_Someday, I will find that skeleton in your closet, Afra, some day...and it will be _spectacular_._

They felt more than heard Afra's mental snort. _My skeleton was using up all my allowance to send Rowan a letter in the chance it got me off of Capella, without telling my parents she hadn't _actually_ just contacted me out of the blue when they made their assumptions._

_Oh, you have more than that,_ Jeff said. _But I am patient._

Gollee sent Master Robinton a mental image of himself first, which the Harper accepted with the strange adroitness he displayed in some things involving Talent (especially since the man's broadcasting empathy was much spottier, and as uncontrolled as if he were constantly fiddling with the volume switch).

Then Afra sent him an image of himself, and they felt the man do a double-take, although the reason was buried in his private mind, which they were trying not to breech as they read his surface public thoughts to make up for his lack of broadcasting telepathy.

_Yellow eyes,_ Gollee Gren guessed. _That's what threw him._

_I'm on your side,_ Jeff agreed. _Cat-eyes in a man's face is a little odd the first time you encounter it._

_My skintone,_ Afra disagreed.

_He has people of all colors in his Hall,_ Jeff said.

_But they're all Pernese,_ Afra pointed out. _And only Capellans are green._

That was a good point, but the moment had already passed, and Robinton was thinking of different things already. One of those things was the continued pressing need for tangible proof. _Would I by chance be able to get another copy of that—_

They gently stacked five books on his desk. _Do you need more? _ Jeff asked.

_Would thirty be out of the question?_ the Harper asked hopefully._ Not immediately, I can't imagine the amount of work it takes to create these, one would take my Archivists turns, but by the next time—_

There wasn't enough room for thirty on his desk, and even if there was, it would be uncomfortable for him to continue sitting at the desk with them there, so they put a few more on his desk to make him aware that more were coming, and then pointed his attention to the wall, where they stacked the rest up in neat stacks on the floor.

Astonishment, wavering with that heavy-on-the-volume-knob feel. Then genuine gratitude...which actually was projected evenly, at a comfortable level, as if more practiced. _Thank you. This will make my task tomorrow so much easier._ There was an under-thought that the Harper Hall being the sole provider and keeper of the contact book was a dangerous spot for him to be in indeed. But with thirty, he could pass them out to anyone who mattered.

_The manner in which we create books is not arduous, time-consuming, or resource-consuming,_ Afra said for them, since it was clear Master Robinton expected them hand-made and he was personally knowledgeable of the work it would take to produce a book of that size or length by hand. Afra wondered what, if any, machines were available on his world. _It's not an imposition._

_I don't suppose your mental voice is anything like your physical voice?_ Robinton asked Afra suddenly.

_?_ Afra asked.

_Well if it is, you might make a very good performer._ Another under-thought that a good voice combined with Afra's handsome and exotic looks were a recipe for an exceedingly popular Harper. Not that it mattered.

Jeff and Gollee were vastly amused at the thought of Afra performing.

_You're...not the first to suggest that, Master Robinton. But I don't believe I'm cut out for that path. I found the music my voice was suited for a little stiff._

_I found your skeleton,_ Jeff told Afra on a private band. _Or rather, Robinton did. I'll have to thank him._

_If you found music stiff, your teacher was giving you the wrong music. _There was another under-thought that the same could be said for sex, come to think of it, which Robinton quickly put out of his mind as utterly irrelevant to Afra and possibly offensive in this context.

Jeff and Gollee were even more amused.

Robinton noticed. _Oh, you heard that? I suppose people like you must hear a lot of things you're not intended to hear..._ he said musingly. _I always wondered how dragons dealt with it, the condensed inanity of the everyday human thought._ Then there was an odd little jibber in Robinton's thoughts. _I'm busy, Zair. All right, climb up on my shoulder if you wish. Why are you hiding in my hair?_ And for all Robinton wasn't a sending telepath, those thoughts were as clear as they could get without him being one. Directed and purposeful...just not directed at them.

From impressions on the top of Robinton's public mind, it suddenly became obvious to them that the odd telepathic/empathic jibber in Robinton's mind was connected to a pet, and they caught a sight of a bronzed hide, and whirling, red-tinged faceted bug-eyes. However, this creature didn't match up to the image of a dragon that Jeff had pilfered from Robinton's mind upon their first meeting; the head wasn't entirely the same shape, and the creature as a whole was far, far too small. Still, it drew the focused interest of all three Talents.

_Is he talking to you?_ Jeff asked Robinton.

_Hello there,_ Afra soothed, reaching out directly to the slightly agitated creature. It froze, then Afra unmistakably felt the brush of an unorganized but telepathic mind as it turned its attention to him. It was like interacting with a very young Talented child, and just as charming. _Who are you?_ he asked.

_zairZairzairZAIR_ the creature warbled at him, the mind-tone an extremely diminished echo of Robinton's baritone voice, as if the name was stitched together from a sampling of all the times Robinton had summoned him by name. Then it flashed him a collage of images seen from a thousand different facets of its compound eyes; Robinton's hand, huge from this perspective, and seen in something more than three dimensions, reaching up to caress him where he sat on the Harper's shoulder. An aerial view of an open stone courtyard with a lot of young men and boys racing across its plain, stone expanse. The sweet woman-with-the-others singing while strumming a harp. The warm sand of a beach.

And all of it, _all of it_, was a telepathic sending. From a creature small enough to perch on Robinton's shoulder.

_You are absolutely beautiful,_ Afra told Zair with more than a little awe.

The firelizard understood the compliment, and gave him an unmistakable feeling of pride, and preened.

_It seems Afra has just fallen in love with your...firelizard, here,_ Jeff said. _That..."bronze"...is a little telepath, isn't he? That's fascinating..._

_Oh, is that what it is? He was upset one moment, but now he's pleased as can be with himself. He could never resist flat—_

_JEFF RAVEN!_

The peace was shattered with an almost war-like cry that made their heads ring, and Afra and Gollee slid behind Jeff to lend their strength to the merge on reflex. In the Tower, the dynamos revved as the merge pulled a little extra strength from them. At the same time, they felt Robinton practically fall out of his chair, and they also heard little Zair launch himself with an sense of __. Then Zair utterly faded from their senses as if wiped off of the planet.

_Weyrwoman Lessa,_ Jeff Raven said.

Pure, unmitigated hostility. _What are you doing to the Harper?_

Afra immediately shielded to take some of the edge off, but even so her voice tolled in his head like he'd just stuck it into a bell; Jeff had warned she was strong, but he hadn't warned just _how_ strong!

_I will tell you if you stop shouting; you're hurting my Craft Masters,_ Jeff Raven said coolly, as he wrapped himself about them to try to take some of the pressure off_. Also, your Harper has collapsed. His mind is not anywhere near strong enough to withstand you yelling at the top of _your_ mind, Weyrwoman. I told you upon our first meeting that you need to take care. If you seek to keep him undamaged, look towards yourself, first._

_Master Robinton?_ the powerful mind withdrew as quickly as it had appeared.

Afra breathed a sigh of relief, as the pressure vanished. Still, it seemed as if she were still watching them, despite her focus having changed—or perhaps her twin sister. It was female, at least.

_Good evening, dragon._ It was Gollee who said this.

Ramoth rumbled a warning that reverberated through them, and continued to watch them. Afra brushed her mind, and slid across shields like they were oiled or iced. Despite that, they did little to hide the great potential he could feel in the golden queen's mind.

He retreated from her, not knowing where the boundary of politeness was, or what she would and wouldn't consider an intrusion, and wary of the way she leapt to her rider's defense even when the rider was the aggressive one. Then he turned his attention to the Harper Hall.

Now that Lessa had pulled back, Afra could sense the agony Robinton was in. His assistants had piled into the room, but could do nothing about the blinding headache that came when a mightily stronger Talent over-stretched a less Talented person's mind. Lessa herself was there a few moments later...and seemed unable to take the Harper's pain, although it should be within her ability to do so.

Afra queried Jeff for permission, reasoning that Jeff might not be the best vehicle for this at the moment as he obviously was not in her favor, and Jeff gave a grunt of assent.

_I can show you how to ease his pain,_ Afra said, coming close to the mind that was, unquestionably, Prime-like, albeit untrained.

_Who are you?_ she asked, hostility still in her tone, but the voice was soft, not shouting, out of respect for Master Robinton.

_My name is Afra Lyon. I am the second-in-command of the FT&T Tower at Callisto Moonbase, in the same solar system as Earth._

_And how will you show me?_ she asked.

Afra felt a trickle of fear, as this woman had strength like the Rowan but was also utterly unpredictable to him. He wasn't sure what she would or wouldn't do, what line she would or wouldn't cross. But he kept it tightly behind his shields, shields even a Prime could crack only with killing him, and touched her mind in a dispassionate manner to drop in the technique used to stimulate natural painkillers and unblock pathways that had been burnt and clogged. Then he _offered_ to "take her hands" and put the technique to use.

She studied him for a long moment, as did Ramoth, but the pulsing beat of Robinton's pain washed up against them, and abruptly she agreed.

He drew her near, then directed her to touch Robinton's temples, and direct her influence _here_ and _here._

As Afra had a link to Lessa, and Lessa was physically touching the man, the relief and return to clarity for the man was palpable. _Oh! Thank you. I—oh, I see, that wasn't Jeff this time. Thank you Weyrwoman. And—thank you, Afra Lyon,_ he added, sensing Afra there as well. However, beneath his gratitude, there was a dismayed hope that pain like this wouldn't be a common occurrence. And, deeply underneath that, the desire that people wouldn't tread on him like this. It seemed the Harper's grace wore thin when Talents behaved badly around him.

_It shouldn't be a common occurrence when the Talents around you are polite and well trained,_ Afra told him. It was as close as he dared got at criticizing Lessa directly.

Gollee was a little more direct; he didn't bother to fully hide a faint sense of disapproval any moderately Talented empath could pick up; his cavalier attitudes didn't extend to mishandled Talent.

They felt the Weyrwoman get their point. However, instead of a renewed hostility, there was a sadness in her that touched Afra's heart.

_Do you want me to train you?_ Afra asked, without thinking.

He felt both Jeff and Gollee's shock at the offer, followed by Jeff's irritation; it was too early. Yet, it had been asked, already, and Afra wasn't about to take it back. It wasn't as if he were unqualified, having taught Jeff himself so long ago.

_Training should prevent another occurrence like this,_ Afra said,_ as it will instill the knowledge and discipline necessary to handle a lesser Talent's mind gently. Also, you wouldn't be obliged to jump on your dragon and go _between_ to contact the Harper. You could just speak to him mind-to-mind, from wherever you are._

They all felt Robinton's chagrin clearly, and just as clearly a clumsy but heartfelt soothing apology towards Lessa before she could get her back up.

Afra wanted to laugh at that, because it was so much like the chagrin of some of Rowan's Tower crew. But he tucked that behind shields too instead, and said, _And I can teach you how to shield, Master Robinton. So no-one can intrude any further than a tap on your shoulder to get your attention without breaking through your shields first._

_Is there a way to make unbreakable shields?_ Robinton asked.

_Only if you have a knack at it. I do not know if you do._

There was silence.

_I will not take lessons from men I cannot see with my own two eyes,_ Lessa said finally.

_Fair enough,_ Jeff said, jumping on that excuse.

_She _needs_ training, Jeff,_ Afra said on a tight band to him.

_That wasn't your problem, Mr. Lyon,_ Jeff replied, in a tone that would have made Afra feel shamed if Afra had been fifteen years younger and less sure of himself. But he wasn't, so he wasn't. Instead, Afra held the peace for now and bided his time.

Then, to Lessa, Jeff said, _As for your original question. I was speaking to the Harper. I left him some books, as you may have noticed._

_You did not tell me of this meeting, Robinton._

Robinton's good-will—which had held even though the occurrence and vanquishing of his massive headache—vanished completely. _The Harper Hall does not report to Benden Weyr. It's not even in your threadfall-fighting jurisdiction. I am an ally...nothing _less. The stress on the word "less" had flavors of _the Charter_ and the _autonomy/self-governance_ of Crafthalls, and a warning that the rank of Masterharper was technically identical to that of Lord Holder and Weyrwoman. Then in a less fierce tone, he added, _sometimes more._ _Do not take advantage of it._

There was a sigh from Lessa even they could feel. _You are right, as usual, Master Robinton._ She turned her attention to the Talents. _I just worry about the effects of all of this on my planet, and the people I care about._ The last part was nearly as bland as some of Afra's proclamations.

_No less than I,_ Robinton said.

_That is true. You've accomplished much as the head string-strummer_. There was heavy amusement in her tone.

_Mmm,_ Robinton said, and to Afra's sudden amusement, he had enough of a shield suddenly that reading whatever he was thinking deep in his mind was no longer as easy as just reaching forward a little.

_I like him,_ he confided to Gollee.

_Do you? I'm not so sure I do. The idea of a man sending out pop-singers to transform the world in his image scares me,_ Gollee replied. _Which is what he would be here. That woman? The assistant Menolly? I've been doing a little "listening" while we're here, and she's a folk-singer as popular as all get-out across this world, and she only answers to him. Her songs are very often about current or political events. Pure propaganda machine. And _he_ comes off as too nice to be genuine._

Afra silently disagreed. _Druid,_ he said.

A mental snort. _You're telling me the Masterharper can shape-shift into a bear?_

_Druids _do_ have a history beyond net games. In ancient Celtic history, before writing was commonplace, the druid caste were the preservers of cultural history and knowledge. They passed this on through oral traditions and songs. Think of how impressed he was with the books; they probably still pass on much of their knowledge orally. It was a part entertainer, part teacher, part priest, part ruling caste. I think Harpers are the same._

_Quiet in the peanut gallery,_ Jeff said to them privately. Then he spoke to the Pernese. _I was planning to speak to you after the Masterharper, Weyrwoman Lessa. However, part of the reason I've been speaking with _him_ first is that I honestly don't know how your dragons feel about me. We don't have any dragons here, and your Ramoth reacted strongly to your encounter with my shields, which was not an act of aggression on _my_ part._

_We are watching,_ Ramoth said to him. Her voice was a strange echo of Lessa's own, except perhaps a little deeper and more regal.

_And _that_ isn't creepy,_ Gollee said softly to Afra so Jeff wouldn't hear.

_Well, you've met your dragon,_ Afra responded.

Jeff was still speaking to Lessa. _And I am also afraid of unintentionally interfering with your bonds with them. If I may be presumptuous...Talents speaking directly to Talents doesn't seem to be a skill your people have. Still, if you want, we can speak now. I believe there is much for us to speak about._

_ You will speak with F'lar as well,_ Lessa said.

_If you wish._

_If I may—_ Robinton interjected, the thought difficult to hear as they'd all adjusted to Lessa's much more powerful thoughts. _Lessa, will you and F'lar be covering tangible proof?_

A moment of silence.

_Yes, yes, but those suffer from the same issue Lord Groghe mentioned._

'_Lord' Groghe?_ Gollee murmured to them softly.

_Feudal society,_ Afra mused.

_Shh,_ Jeff said.

_There is one thing, Earth Prime,_ Robinton said.

_Yes?_

_I'm afraid the books you sent won't do as tangible proof of your contact with us,_ the Harper said.

_How much more tangible can thirty books get?_ Gollee asked.

Somehow, Robinton heard this, or Gollee had slipped up and not kept the thought on the proper band. _I would agree, but as you probably know if the humanity on your world is at all similar to mine, individuals can be foolish. We don't have many books on Pern, and those we have come out of my Hall anyway._

_Ah,_ Jeff said. _It's easy for them to think you a charlatan._

Surprisingly, Lessa suddenly laughed. _Now Robinton, don't be a gluttonous charlatan,_ she said, her mental voice dancing with the air of an in-joke. _Or a greedy faker._

_Silence, lest I cast thee out of my hall with the deadly spores of threadfall upon your heels, and the mark of the Holdless upon your forehead._ The proclamation rolled through their minds like very quiet thunder, although the emotional undercurrent was lighter and not genuinely malignant. Afra wondered what the man sounded like in person.

_I suppose that oath doesn't work too well on a dragonrider, does it?_ Robinton said mildly after a pause.

_No, Harper,_ she said_. It does not._

_I am not authorized to send anything else of note at this time,_ Jeff said. _But I will work quickly to get that resolved._

_That is all I can ask,_ Robinton said graciously_._

_Weyrwoman Lessa,_ Jeff said. _When would be a good time to speak to yourself and Weyrleader F'lar?_

_Would two hours be too long of a wait?_ she asked.

_I'm afraid so, yes. Earth Tower goes operational in one hour. We are available tomorrow, however, at the same time I began my contact with Robinton._

_No,_ Robinton said, and they had the sense tomorrow at this time would be a very _bad_ time.

_I know, _Lessa replied. _Unless...would you be willing to also speak to all of us?_ And Afra caught an sense of Important People.

_Is this group entirely dragonriders?_

_No._

_I would need to use the same technique as our very first meeting then. If Master Robinton is willing—_

_—no,_ Lessa said, quickly discarding the thought. The Talents got the strong impression of puppetry and buggery and a smear to Robinton's good name.

_That is not your decision,_ Robinton said.

_There is nothing shameful in acting as a Prime's voice,_ Afra said. _I used to serve as The Rowan's mouth on Earth fairly frequently._ He knew it was unlikely to convince them—but it also helped illustrate something of FT&T culture for Lessa.

_However, if it serves to complicate your peers' perception of you, Master Robinton, it may be best that I do not,_ Jeff said_. Would the day after work? Same time? Or perhaps I shall contact you within a week, within seven days, to arrange a time?_

_ That would suit, Lessa said._

_ Then, we will withdraw until later,_ Jeff said. _Master Robinton, as I said I will work on procuring something tangible that may fulfill your needs._

_Thank you._

Afra felt Jeff's intent to pull them back home, but one thing was niggling at the back of his mind...the fear that Lessa, strong enough to knock _them_ for a spin, might have her Talent bloom in much the way Robinton's seemed to be. Was her Talent already working at full force? Or would she begin to exhibit additional strength?

_Gollee, may I have that origami dragon?_ he asked, lightning-quick and in that "dropped" way that they had developed between them to go undetected most of the time by their Primes. _I will make another for you._

Gollee assented.

Then Afra reached out, and placed the little yellow origami in Lessa's hand. Verbal thought was too slow if he wanted to avoid Jeff's knowledge of this, so he dropped a nuanced and dense nugget of information in her mind: her talent blooming out of control, the damage that could be done to Robinton and others without training, a caution to be careful, advice to wait, and knowledge that if she were patient, and the contact between the two worlds went smoothly, he personally would set foot on her planet, face-to-face, and train her as a Talent of her strength should be trained. And he was a good teacher: he has taught Earth Prime himself.

Then Afra withdrew along with the others, and left Pern behind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Damia Gwyn-Raven gracefully collapsed into a seat before Gollee Gren's desk and crossed her long, mostly bare legs for a moment before spotting the row of variously colored origami dragons lined up in a neat row across the quiescent glass touch-screen on the desk and quickly leaning forward to examine them with a well-manicured finger. Uncle Gollee gave her a brief, odd look, but his shields were up and firm and she wasn't prepared to engage in behavior that might curtail her visits to Earth, so she didn't probe them for cracks. _This_ time. Instead, she pretended to be far more interested in the dragons...which wasn't too hard to feign. "Afra made these for you," she proclaimed. There were five of them; one in a shimmery gold paper, one in a color-shifting bronze, one in a rich chocolate brown, one in emerald green, and the last a deep azure blue.

"Be careful with mauling them about, they're fragile," he warned her.

"I know how to handle origami," she chided him. "You should see my collection. Why's Afra making dragons now? He's never been into the whole fantasy scene."

"Pfft," Gollee said. "Afra and I go to period re-enactments all the time."

She glanced up at him, her deep blue eyes pinning him in place. "You do?"

Gollee was unimpressed by her gaze. "No."

She frowned at him. "So why'd Afra make dragons?"

"Because I like dragons," Gollee said.

"It doesn't work like that, Gollee," Damia told him. "Afra makes what Afra wants to make, whatever's on his mind, and then _maybe_ he gives it to you. He doesn't do special requests. I know, I've tried."

Gollee chuckled. "Perhaps he doesn't make special requests for _you_, devil-child. And if you're collecting his origami now, that's probably why he doesn't do special requests. _You'd_ have him folding until his fingers fell off."

Damia waved a hand at the five dragons. "You don't think five dragons is a lot?" she asked.

He gave her an enigmatic smile, and leaned back in his chair, before snaking up a hand to remove the wire he wore in his ear while he was on duty. Shift had ended over an hour ago, Damia knew. "Why are you pestering me?" he asked, putting the wire away in a little drawer at his desk.

"I just wanted to stop by and let someone know I'm going out," she said, leaning forward to examine the brown dragon intently again.

A whisk of telekinetic power made them vanish suddenly, and a moment later she saw them reappear behind Gollee to settle on a shelf next to a large holo of his wife. There was more than a little whimsy in the way their paper wings flapped as they settled down that contrasted with the stern expression of her father's twic. "As far as I'm aware, you have two perfectly good parents and one more-or-less godfather to ask back on Callisto. Yet, here you are, in my office. _Pestering_ me. On _Earth_ already, mind-you. Did you 'port off of Callisto without telling anyone?"

"_Golleeeeee,_" she said. "I told _you_. Am _telling_ you."

"Don't you 'Gollee' me. It might work on Afra—"

_It doesn't,_ she admitted. _He tells me he's not Gollee when I do it._ She gave him an impish smile.

Gollee snorted. _Well then,_ he said.

"Can I go out to the clubs?"

A wave of skepticism. "You're fourteen."

"Just the kiddie ones, not the adult ones. You know, without 'substances'. Clean."

He shot her an image: a dark room, flashing lights...and a score of toddlers playing with neon plastic toys while she stood there, alone, all long bare legs and done-up hair and a shirt so low that it—

"Gollee! My shirt isn't _that_ low-cut!" She crossed her arms over her chest.

He merely raised an eyebrow at her. "There _are_ no 'kiddie clubs', devil-child."

"Yes there _are_," she said. "I've been to some. And I can take care of myself," she added. She _was_ a T-1 after all. Nobody could lay a finger on her if she didn't allow it.

"And what do you do when someone spikes the drinks because your club is _too_ kiddie, and suddenly you don't _want_ to take care of yourself?"

"That won't happen!"

Gollee laughed. "You act like I've never gone clubbing, Damia. You don't think I have some experience in these things?"

She studied him. "You've _actually_ had your drinks spiked?" _Not just a story from a friend-of-a-friend?_

He snorted. "I was the one spiking the drinks! I passed off wine as grape juice once."

"No you didn't."

He grinned at her, all wide teeth. "Oh yes I did. Got him good and drunk, too."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who?"

"A buddy from the Tower," he said, evasively. His shields were still firm.

Damia shook her head. "You can't mistake wine for grape juice. They taste totally different."

"You can if someone has never had grape juice before," he said, arching a brow at her.

She thought about this. "So your friend was from Procyon?" she asked. She'd never seen a cargo shipment of Procyon wine...only beers and ales. "Or just very, very sheltered?"

He grinned at her. Then he sobered. "Damia—I can't let you go. You're only fourteen. Even if I wanted to, I'm not actually the Rowan or Jeff. Or even Afra. And the Earth to the moons of Jupiter is one hell of a commute for you to get home, if you get tired or if someone does spike the drinks. Believe me; after some good parties I've groaned at the thought of walking a block, much less teleporting thousands of miles. Even without alcohol. And while I might not be Prime, I'm not exactly a featherweight either." He paused. "Why didn't you ask your parents?"

"They're busy."

"And Afra?"

"Can't find him."

Gollee looked inquisitive, then distant as he went to verify this.

Damia, also, briefly reached out to touch Afra's mind and found him heavily shielded with that sense of _do not disturb._ She withdrew. "Well, his shields are up in that way he gets when he doesn't want to be bothered. Don't give me that look; I don't _usually_ pester him when he wants to be left alone. I _am_ an empath, too!"

_Yeah, he doesn't want to be bothered_, Gollee confirmed, although she had already re-confirmed it. She wondered if Afra had actually responded to Gollee, while ignoring her.

Sighing, she tasted defeat and instead asked, "What's Jeran been up to?"

"Being Deneb Prime. Don't pry; you know that topic's a dead-end. Besides...it's out of his hands."

Damia put her arms on the desk and propped her chin on them. "Gollee?"

"Yes, Damia?"

"I'm bored."

"Boo-fucking-hoo."

She giggled. Then she said, "Gollee?"

"Oh come _on_. I have things to do that _don't_ involve entertaining you."

That made her think of Afra again, because he often kept her company...and _not_ in an "I'm entertaining the kid" way...and she reached out to him. _Do not disturb_. She withdrew again. "Afra's not on Callisto," she realized.

"Only a T-1 could miss the difference in distance between Earth and Callisto," Gollee said dryly.

"He's on Earth," she said speculatively.

"Yes, and like a polite, _sensitive_ empath you'll leave him alone," Gollee said. "He doesn't need you in his hair whenever he's on Earth for some R&R. He spends most of his time on a _moon_ for god's sake, not prancing around a real planet such as Deneb like you."

"Yeah, I know. Do you mind if I go shopping at the galleries if I can't go dancing? I promise I won't seek out Afra."

"That's not my—you can't ask your parents?"

She grimaced, and thought of the intense, private conversation they'd been having. The kind that wasn't good for her or any of her sibling to intrude on.

Gollee must have caught a whiff of it, because he frowned. Then he threw up his hands, and she felt exasperation. "Fine. Fine. Since I'm being a stand-in dad, let me know when you take yourself back to Callisto. If I _don't_ hear from you by nine local when the stores close I'll tell your parents and _they'll_ come looking for you." _And they won't be happy._

Damia jumped up, and rounded his desk to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Gollee."

"Why do you torment me, Damia?" he asked plaintively.

"Because you like it," she said, grinning.

He studied her for a moment, then gave her a gentle shove away. "I guess I do, huh? Shoo. Go buy up the town. You have a capsule reserved so you can cart what you get home?"

"I'm only getting something for my brother Larak."

"All right. Go." And he turned away from her to gather up some of the reports he was working with this evening.

Damia smiled at him and ducked away.

#

"Eleven year old boys are hard to shop for," Damia muttered to herself, as she gazed into a display window. She'd been through the kid's section. She'd been through the teen's section. She hadn't found anything that she _knew_ Larak would enjoy. Now she was making her way through a restaurant and spa section, in the hopes something of use would be on the other side. The food smelled delicious, and tempted her to linger, but there was something very lonely about dining by one's self at an expensive restaurant...not to mention the looks she'd draw due to her youth. And the spas...well, it was quickly apparent that a few of them, perhaps two of every five, weren't just massage parlors. She _wasn't_ prying...it was just, people had a specific sort of anticipation when they entered that an empath like herself picked up on with ease. Luckily, those buildings seemed to be shielded on the higher levels...else her irrepressible curiosity might have gotten the better of her.

There were a passel of tea shops on the other side of the dining and relaxation section, and she paused to look at the lovely hand-made teapots for a moment before concluding that no matter how much she loved the one with the twisting, whiskered Asian dragon, her brother would be less than impressed. Beyond that was a section with puppets, which fascinated her, but again, her brother would have no interest in.

Perhaps she should have brought Larak along. But she had _wanted_ to go dancing, and hadn't planned to let uncle Gollee block her.

Damia sighed, and chewed on the thick straw of the tapioca tea she'd picked up while examining the teapots last section.

It was then she spotted Afra, through the window of a store that sold fancy papers.

A sense of dismay went through her at first; she really _hadn't_ meant to go find him. Out of all the places on Earth he could be, there was a very small chance that she would run into him while shopping for her brother. Yet, there he was, his blond head visible above the crowd. He was at a kiosk with all types of papers and bows and ribbons and cards, browsing with his back to her.

Damia knew she shouldn't bother him. But this _was_ chance. And he was _male_, and knew Larak as well as anyone did. Perhaps he'd know what her little brother would like for his birthday.

With that defense on her lips—that she _hadn't_ followed him, that he might know what her brother would like—she slipped through the crowd and popped up by his right elbow. "Afra!"

Afra turned, a look of mild surprise on his handsome face, then Damia felt disapproval before he firmed his shields against her.

She felt her face try to turn red, but exercised control over the blood flow in her cheeks so it didn't actually manifest. Although, from the way his yellow eyes searched hers, he might have detected her self control; he was, after all, the one that had taught her such tricks. "Afra, I'm sorry, I really _didn't_ mean to find you here. I'm shopping for Larak, and I don't know what to get him, and here you are by chance, and I thought you might know what I should get him because you're a boy too."

"A boy?" Afra asked, a skeptical look appearing on his face.

"Yes," she said, undaunted. "A grown-up boy."

He searched her face again, and she could feel the touch of his talent as he tried her shields, but he was only a T-3 and she a T-1, so she knew he would get little from her. "If you're actually searching for a gift for Larak, you might want to find a section that's not arts and crafts," he said.

"_You're_ in arts and crafts," she said.

"I'm searching for paper," he said.

"Why? Don't you get a bunch of it 'ported in to Callisto?"

"I'm looking for a—" thank you note, "—specific color of paper," he said.

Damia blinked. Had he just lied to her? "A color," she tested.

"Yes," he said. "Gold—" _bronze_, she heard the echo.

She reached out to touch his shields, to _try_ them with a swift probe, but he frowned at her and although he wasn't quick enough to bat her away, his shields were too firm for her to get past without hurting him, and she merely gave him a good _thump_ as she hit them before backing off. They held easily.

"Damia," he began, his expression darkening at her blatant attempt to read his mind.

He'd lied to her twice. It astonished her, for she couldn't recall a single time ever when he had lied to her in her life, and didn't know why he would start now. It also astonished her, because she'd been staring him in the eye the whole time, and his poise hadn't wavered. Which meant, against all probability, that he was accomplished at it. Had he lied to her before? When she just hadn't been able to discern it? And there was also the issue of her being _able_ to pick it up; Afra had a lot of tricks in his arsenal, developed from dealing with her mother. He knew how not to leak.

The question was, why would he lie about such silly things? "You're looking for a bronze-colored thank you note?" she asked.

Afra blinked, then threw back his head and laughed.

_I don't see why it's funny,_ she said. _You lied to me _twice_, to my face!_

His laughter stopped abruptly. _Perhaps if you didn't follow me when you know I did not wish to be disturbed you would not find me lying to you,_ he said. _You reached out to me three times, and _knew_ I didn't want to be disturbed. And even had Gollee try once. You know I'm available in an emergency, but so far this doesn't seem to be one._

_I didn't follow you, I swear!_ she said, and reached forward and wrapped him in her honesty, indignation that he'd think she _would_ after being warned off that many times, and the slightly guilty thoughts she'd had when she'd stumbled upon him accidentally.

Afra studied the taste of her mental offering, then reluctantly accepted her apology with a sigh that heaved his shoulders.

_Why are thank-you notes and bronze paper so important?_

_To anyone but me, they're not, Coonie._

_Then why are they to you?_

_I'm not allowed to have my own secrets?_ he asked, but a subtle smile curled his mouth up.

_I'll help you keep your secrets,_ she said. _You know I'm good at that._ She was a faithful friend. _Can I help you pick out a thank-you note?_

He was dismayed enough at her offer for her to both pick it up through his shields and read the expression flickering through his face before he controlled himself. "No," he said resolutely, the word flavored with mortification.

She opened her mouth, and was hit by a backwash of _Watch yourself, young lady,_ and so closed it again. Fine. Although she was afflicted with a terrible curiosity on how she'd managed to actually _mortify_ him. He normally didn't get as bent out of shape as people expected a conservative Methody Capellan to be, no matter how much her family and Callisto Tower teased him about his upbringing.

"You can help me pick out the gold paper," he offered.

"Not bronze?"

He smiled. "I will pick out the bronze. I'm looking for a specific shade."

Oh. He wanted both. And the paper was separate from the thank-you note. So he'd more _evaded_ her than lied to her. She touched his mind briefly in apology so he knew she had just figured that out. Then she said, "Does paper even _come_ in bronze? I mean, what color _is_ bronze?"

Afra shrugged, with a feeling of _I'll know it when I see it, _then turned back to the papers he had been looking at. "The gold paper I will be using for origami," he said.

"All right," she said, knowing from experience that he preferred a specific weight. She drifted over to where the yellows and golds were, and started browsing, testing the feel of the paper as she did so. He went back to the browns and searched for the right shade of bronze.

Eventually, they made his purchases, and they strolled out of the gallery, side by side. She 'ported his purchases to his capsule discreetly so they wouldn't have to carry them. "If you make a dragon again, can I have one?" she asked as they walked, back in the direction of the restaurant and spa levels.

"Why do you want a dragon, Damia?" Afra asked.

"Because I don't have one yet, and Gollee has five. I'd like a gold one." The bronze paper seemed special to him.

"And if I make you a gold dragon, what will you name her?" he asked.

A name? She hadn't been expecting to name it, but she could. She grabbed a name out of thin air. "Ramoth."

Afra gave her a very peculiar look, and settled a long-fingered hand on her shoulder. Damia was surprised at the touch, as physical contact would often make telepathic encounters deeper and more revealing than intended and Afra was usually very polite about not doing that, but he steered her out of the main hallway into a much smaller deserted one, and turned her to face him. _Where did you get that name?_ he asked.

She shrugged. _I don't know; you said name the dragon, and I did._

_ Why gold? Why not bronze?_ he asked.

_...you seem to be saving the bronze paper for something special,_ she said. _But bronze is okay too._ She felt like fidgeting. _Did I do something wrong?_

_Are you sure you pulled that name out of thin air?_ he pressed her.

_What does it mean?_ she asked. _Ramoth. It sounds large and im—_

Both of them faltered when they felt the brush of a large and imposing mind. Afra seemed to recognize it however; she picked up the jolt of familiarity from him, and because of this, Damia hesitated in doing anything.

So when a quick-as-thought exchange went between Afra and this mind, she was too late to interfere when it settled into Afra's body.

Afra shook his head, blinked, then glanced down at his hands, as if they were unfamiliar and unwieldy appendages.

_Afra?_ she asked.

_—they turned the tables on Earth Prime—_ was the only thought she caught from _him_ before he turned a gaze on Damia that was proud, regal, and as arrogant as any queen...or Prime. "And what do you want with Ramoth, girl?" he said, his voice still smooth and tenor, but heavily accented in a manner Damia was unfamiliar with. She got most of the _meaning_ from the female mind that had borrowed Afra's body.

Damia had the urge to lunge for Afra, put her arms around him and protect him from the intruder, but when she tried to slip under the other telepath's control, she felt from Afra, _Answer her question._ He was still there, and aware, and seemingly unharmed; just buried.

"I don't want anything with Ramoth," Damia said. "I was asked for a name for my dragon, and I gave one."

The woman stared at her out of Afra's yellow eyes.

"But I can change it," Damia said, magnanimously, not so dense that between Afra and this stranger's reactions, she didn't realize that she'd chosen a poor name for the little not-yet-made origami dragon she wanted Afra to create. Then she straightened her spine, and gave the stranger in Afra's body a look she'd seen her mother use to withering results. "Do you intend to hurt Afra?"

"I intend as much as Earth Prime intended with the Harper," the woman said cryptically.

Damia tried to gather from the woman's mind what exactly she meant by that, for she didn't seem to have the sort of shields Damia was used to, but she "felt" Afra in intense conversation with his guest, and the woman's thoughts became shielded. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I am Lessa, Weyrwoman of Benden Weyr," Lessa said. "Rider of the gold queen Ramoth. Who are you?"

"Damia Gwyn-Raven. T-1."

Lessa lifted Afra's chin, which gave him the effect of looking down his well-shaped nose and his considerable height at her. "Raven. I see. Who is Jeff Raven, to you?"

"My father," Damia said, after pausing to allow Afra to let her know if she should stay silent. She felt that he was ill-at-ease but resigned with her having this conversation at all, but not particularly alarmed about the specifics such as family relationships.

"And you are a Prime?"

"I am a T-1; I will become Prime when I reach majority and pass my testing."

"Mmm," she said. "And will she be involved in contact with my world?" Lessa asked with Afra's voice, although the question was directed at Afra now.

There was a pause. _Possibly after her majority. Would you send a Weyrling to do a Rider's work?_

A brief smile appeared on Afra's face...not Afra's restrained, gentle, and calm smiles, but a wide, dazzling one that would have melted Damia's heart had she not known a stranger was wielding Afra's body as her tool. "Then you don't need to be anxious, do you, Master Lyon? She's not learning anything that, say, Master Menolly doesn't know. You stand in the same position as we do."

_It's a bit more complicated than that,_ Afra said.

"Has your Master made progress on the Harper's request?"

_Master?_ Damia boggled in the back of her mind, behind shields. It was like a net vid. _Maaaaaassss-teeerrr. Let me do your bidding, Master._ What was Afra, some sort of lackey? She felt insulted for Afra.

_Please restrain yourself, Damia,_ Afra said privately, apparently catching the thoughts behind her shields. _It's a rank equivalent with a "Doctor" of the non-medical sort, with tastes of "Captain" if you look at it as a command structure type of thing._ To Lessa, he said, _He has made progress, but has not completed the request yet. It involves matters outside of the FT&T, and as such, outside of his direct authority._

"The Harper says patience is a virtue, and I suppose he is correct. He usually is. Damia," she said.

"Yes?"

"Do you have a title? Apprentice? Journeywoman?"

"No," Damia said.

"Well then. While I don't appreciate you naming inanimate objects after my dragon, I do appreciate it somehow providing a...way for me to find you. I can find both of you now, I think. Without the frustration of before. Master Lyon?"

_Yes?_ Afra said.

"Thank you for your forbearance. And your gift. I'll leave you to your lives, and we'll meet again at the appropriate time."

_Yes,_ Afra said. _We will meet again._

And with that, the presence of Weyrwoman Lessa vanished.

Afra, in a rare display of ill-humor, scowled, then twisted his neck back and forth, and ran a hand through his hair.

Damia touched him on one arm. _You're okay? She didn't hurt you? I didn't think she had...if she did, I would have saved you._

He eyed her. _I'm fine. More or less. Please don't speak Ramoth's name after this. Or any name you pick up that ends in a "th". It seems that they can focus on those who do._

_This is the secret Jeran and you and everyone had, isn't it?_

Afra thinned his lips. _Yes. We need to go back to the Tower, fill out some documentation._

_Documentation? For speaking with another Talent? Why?_

_Because she's from a colony that shouldn't exist, and you weren't cleared to speak to her._

Damia's head was positively exploding with questions, but she knew she shouldn't press Afra. Not when he was so unnerved that he was scowling and expressing his displeasure freely. So when he glanced around the empty corridor to make sure they weren't being observed, and then 'ported, she followed without argument, or making a peep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

F'lar rubbed the palm of his burnt hand with his thumb, then glanced at the still form of Lessa laying on their bed. At the other side of the weyr, Ramoth and Mnementh reclined on their stone couches, blue-green eyes whirling and vigilant.

"Is she all right?" he asked Mnementh, and through the great bronze, Ramoth, although he knew Ramoth's eyes would turn blood red if her rider was in any danger.

_I cannot reach her, but Ramoth says she is well,_ Mnementh replied. _She speaks to a child._

"—a child?" F'lar asked, glancing again at the still form of his mate. Then he crossed his arms and paced over to the side of the bed restlessly, before pacing away again. "Who is this child?"

_A daughter of Earth Prime._

That eased his confusion a bit. Not just any child, but a _particular_ one. The man Jeff Raven carried a second name along with his own—was it a sign of family pride? A dynasty propagated through bloodlines, like some Holders attempted? If so, perhaps talking to his daughter would be rewarding.

Lord Groghe was not entirely wrong when he pointed out that Robinton was too quick to assume that the Nine Star League—if there _was_ one; a disembodied mind and a book were strange but slim evidence—had either conquered more of Pern in a single evening than even Fax had ever dreamed of, or was as benign as they presented themselves. That was far too clear-cut for reality. Nobody in their right mind (although, what was a "right mind" for a powerful telepath?) would possess a well-loved Harper like Robinton without considering the effects of it on his peers. It was a show of power, one of several that night, ranging from deflecting Lessa's efforts like they were nothing—nothing!—and making the essence of the sword shiver and burn so that F'lar would drop it.

Yet, what did it mean that F'lar had been able to fight with Jeff Raven for the sword, so that it was not dropped instantly? And what did it mean that Jeff had noticed F'lar's efforts, and commented on them?

Sitting on the edge of the bed next to his mate's still legs, F'lar drew his belt knife and examined it as if it were new. It was plain, but well-made, honed and made of high-quality steel. Wherhide was wrapped around the handle for grip. Then he re-sheathed it, and rose to pick up a spoon from their earlier meal. He'd feel guilty if he ruined a perfectly good knife. He wiped the spoon clean on a cloth, then tried the trick he'd learned from Earth Prime.

It didn't take long; it was like he'd always known how to do it somewhere in the back of his mind, but had never bothered. There was a hiss, and the oddly savory scent of hot metal, then the spoon was suddenly marred by a streak on the bowl that glowed, and the handle flashed with heat in a way that made F'lar instinctively drop the utensil on the stone table before his fingers burned.

A bead of molten metal rolled across the surface, stopped, and began to harden.

For a while, F'lar stared at the spoon and the bead of iron, black brows drawing together. Then he glanced at his bronze. "I wonder what that would do to thread?"

_Not very much,_ the great bronze told him, decidedly unimpressed by F'lar's accomplishment.

F'lar chuckled, because it was true. Searing thread in such miniscule amounts would be both worthless and distracting during a Fall.

But what if he could work up to bigger? Would not a flaming dragon _and_ one searing...searing...whatever F'lar was...be a benefit? Nearly twenty turns into the Ninth Pass, it was tempting to rest on his achievements in thread-fighting, techniques that even the Oldtimers had adopted, and forget he had once promised to purge Pern of thread, some way some how. What could searing thread by the thimbleful do to improve upon the Weyr's current effectiveness?

What if the Nine Star League had a way to eliminate thread?

What if they _did?_ F'lar glanced at his weyrmate again. Lessa would not like it, not at all. Nor did he, if he were honest with himself. Lessa had told him that Earth Prime had met with Robinton again, and Robinton had confided to her some of the things he had been shown. They had planets—many planets—and none of them with thread. However, one planet had encountered some catastrophic disaster, and had lost millions of people. _Millions_. Yet, the colony survived. How? And what had threatened it? Was the thing that had saved it something that could be turned against thread?

It caught in his mind and caught in his craw, but if they found out the Nine Star League had a way of ridding them of thread for forever—would they take it? Would F'lar be able to swallow his pride and accept outside assistance in order to fulfill his oath?

Or would the price asked of Pern for this aid be too high?

And if F'lar deemed the price the Nine Star League demanded too high—would some other Weyrleader...or even a Lord or Craftmaster...decide it was worth it anyhow, to get rid of the Weyrs entirely in one fell swoop, and F'lar and Lessa as well, even if the yoke this Nine Star League placed on them for the favor was heavier than anything Benden would have countenanced?

For a sour moment, F'lar almost wished that Robinton had gone bawling mad. He didn't wish ill on the Harper, not at all, but dealing with a single man's lapse in sanity might almost be easier than the truth.

Ramoth crooned.

"Lessa?" F'lar asked, shaking his head and shaking his broody thoughts away, before coming to his feet.

"What's that smell?" she asked, rising from the bed and rubbing her face.

"Burning metal," he said. "Mnementh says you spoke with a child."

"A child—? I suppose so. She looks close to full womanhood, but she seemed quite young in countenance. Perhaps star-people take longer to mature. I appropriated the body of her guardian," Lessa said with a half smile. "It's not so hard to do," she added slyly. Then she cocked her head to the side. "He did not seem to think of her as a child."

F'lar came over and drew his petite partner to her feet, and pulled her close to kiss her slowly, relieved she seemed to be unharmed. "And what else did you find?" he asked, after finishing their kiss.

"I didn't stay long," she admitted.

He gave her a skeptical look.

"Really, I didn't. It took a while for me to find them. Damia—the girl—was thinking of Ramoth. That's how I discovered her." She rested her head on F'lar's chest, absently petting the arm of his shirt. "He taught me to shield," she said.

"He did what?"

"Afra Lyon. He was one of those that came to visit Robinton. He taught me to create a barrier like the one Jeff used against me...although I think perhaps against his Master's will."

"He is an ally then?" F'lar asked, noting that this man seemed to have a bloodline name too.

"Maybe. He's very reserved...he reminds me of F'nor in a way...except, more so."

"More F'nor than F'nor?" F'lar asked in amusement.

"Yes. Also...like a power behind the scenes. Then again, he was introduced right out to Robinton as the second in command of Callisto Tower, so that should not surprise us."

"And did you find out anything else?"

Lessa sighed. "No. But now they know their trick isn't unique to them. They know that next time, I could find one of _their_ Craftmasters, and give him a fright, and start our own scheming. Let them think on _that_. But before that...we should go through that book again, and perhaps consult the Harper, so that next time I have better questions."

F'lar grunted. "Well," he said. "While you were away—so to speak—I did think up some questions of my own..."

#

"By god's holy monkey-apples," Gollee said. "Why does this sort of thing always happen to _me_? I try to be nice to my best friends' little girl, without getting her in trouble with her parents, and you end up chasing Afra all around town, invoke the sacred name of Ramoth, and talk to the Benden Weyrwoman!"

"It was a mistake, Gollee!" Damia protested. "All of it. I didn't _mean_ it."

Gollee looked up from where he was rooting in a cabinet for security tablets, and gave her the stink eye. They'd had to call him back to the Tower from home in order to get the documentation they needed downloaded, and he wasn't very pleased about it.

"It wasn't her fault," Afra soothed. "It couldn't be helped."

"Don't make excuses for her!" Gollee said, gesturing at Damia, who had her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"Don't be unreasonable," Afra countered with a small smile to ease the sting as he collapsed into one of the chairs before Gollee's desk and stretched his long legs out.

That got Afra the stink-eye this time, but Gollee stopped tearing into Damia. Damia shot Afra a feeling of thanks, then tried to turn the conversation. "So dragons are real?" Damia asked, looking from man to man. "Somehow?"

A high-security tablet was tossed in her lap. "Log into that." Another one was tossed to Afra, who caught it easily. "You too. Then sign it. You, that is, Damia, since Afra's already done his paperwork. Afra, I need you to enter a report into that. Then we all talk."

The high-security tablets were made for telekinetic Talents, and one edge was more or less a very thin screened rectangular box from top to bottom, through which a kinetic could quickly manipulate a large array of very small keys that only needed a tiny telekinetic nudge to trigger. It was a thousand times faster than typing for a telekinetic of any strength, as fast as one could manipulate their mind to trigger the tiny keys, and almost as fast as the link-ups some of the non-Talents sported in their heads these days. As Damia watched, Afra turned his on, signed in, and had the text of his report entering in so smoothly and quickly that it went faster than her eyes could read. She turned her eyes back to her own, and tabbed it, and began reading the dense legalese she was required to review before she signed with a stylus and thumbprint.

"So you think she was getting back at Jeff via Damia here?" Gollee asked, when both had finished and he'd had a moment to read Afra's report and upload Damia's signature to the databanks after Afra had cross-signed it for her as one of her fallback guardians.

Damia wondered why they hadn't called her dad in yet.

Afra crossed an ankle over his knee, and settled his long arms over the chair's armrests. "Not in any specific way. I think her requesting to speak through my mouth was in retaliation for Jeff using Masterharper Robinton. I think Damia being around was incidental. Many of us are related, after all...it could have easily been Larak, or Cera, or your daughter. Talent runs in the genes."

"Well, it does for _us_," Gollee said, waving at Damia and himself, indicating how large the Raven and Gren lines had spread. "You're still standing on the edge of the gene pool," he teased.

"Do you have somebody?" Damia asked Afra as she sat tailor-style in her chair, still nibbling the straw to her long-depleted pearl tea. She didn't think he'd answer, but she was quite curious.

Afra waved the question off in a manner that suggested he thought it was irrelevant, and continued on the _proper_ chain of conversation. "I showed her how to shield," he said quietly.

"Yessss...I saw that here." Gollee gave Afra a considering look. "Jeff's not going to like that."

"What? Why?" Damia asked, again looking from man to man. "Not knowing how to shield is bad. People get really upset if they think you'll hear their thoughts whether you want to or not."

"Well, we have larger things to consider than the state of a single Talent's shields," Gollee said.

Afra made a sound of disagreement.

Gollee shook his head at him. "We're really, really, _really_ only supposed to be speaking to Master Robinton, so that all diplomatic requests are funneled through one spot, and we don't have to deal with multiple people on their end trying to manipulate us directly so that we kow-tow to their politics. Teaching Lessa to shield could be interpreted as opening a chain of communication with her that might run counter to whatever we're doing with Robinton."

Shaking his head, Afra said, "We already _have_, however, with Jeff. And she duplicated his trick in a matter of days, after having observed it only twice, and I don't have a headache."

_You also rolled over and let her in before she could do harm, too,_ Gollee said.

Afra shrugged. _Only smart thing to do when a Prime of unknown potential, temperament, and ability comes a-knocking on your shields,_ he said. _I kept the important topics hidden. She _still_ duplicated Jeff's trick, without giving me a headache. She found _us_ on Earth with no visual references when as far as we're aware, she's never reached beyond her planet before._

"But she had an auditory reference, when you two spoke her dragon's name."

"How many people do you know can sense a name being spoken light-years away and respond to it?" Afra said.

"Grandmother," Damia said promptly. Isthia Raven had a "long ear" and had been known to hear people talking about her as far away from Deneb as Earth and Callisto Towers. Damia suspected if she didn't stay shielded most of the time, she'd hear her name being called too and be drawn to it. It was possible Weyrwoman could share the trait. "Or any T-1."

Both men looked over at her, and Afra stroked a thumb over his clean-shaven jaw thoughtfully. "You may be right, Coonie," he said. "Gollee, it seems to me that Robinton's Talent unfurling so rapidly, and Lessa's doing the same, should be of great concern to us. It's not like the slow process we usually have, barring those cases where Talent emerges under huge pressure. With their dragons, they've probably already been operating as Talents at some level on a day-to-day basis, and meeting us has given them _not_ a _new_ awareness as usual, but a _higher_ awareness. Lessa already burned Robinton's mind by mistake; the more of them that are stimulated by our presence, the more likely they'll start having Talent accidents if we do not teach them."

"All the more reason for us to keep it confined to Robinton."

"Master Robinton...is not a dragonrider," Afra said slowly. "But, why not? As far as I can sense, compared to Lessa he's very weak. And Lessa, who is quite strong, rides one of their most prestigious colors—the gold queen. If there is a relationship between strength of Talent and their dragons, assuming all dragonriders are Talents, all of their Weyrs will have people who can easily read what he's been up to as he interacts with them out of our sight. It could be a chain reaction, with Robinton as the weakest link, if I may mix my metaphors. And while ignorance is bliss, it's also the base in which fear becomes fertile and spreads. If the Pernese fear their own Talents, because their Talents make mistakes because _we've_ kept them in ignorance, how will they finally react to _us_ once additional contact is 'approved'?" Afra smoothed a wrinkle out of his pants with thoughtful fingers. "We'll have a lot of work ahead of us undoing that sort of damage."

"You have some valid points." Gollee sighed and sat down in his chair, and thought about what Afra said.

However, he didn't do it loudly enough that Damia could pick up what he was thinking. Since she didn't quite know the big picture yet, she spoke again. "So what _are_ these dragons?" she asked.

_Telepathic bug-eyed sentient aliens,_ Gollee said, and flashed an image at her, which had the sense of being well-traveled and originally from the mind of this Master Robinton they'd been speaking out.

Damia seized it eagerly and examined it. _It really does look like a dragon!_ she expressed in surprise. _But it has dragonfly eyes,_ Damia said. _That's pretty. When did Pern get colonized? I never learned of it in school. Altair and Deneb are the only colonies anywhere near the Sagittarius sector._

_Hell if I know, _Gollee said. _There's no records of it, which means some Talent...some Prime...a few hundred years ago managed to flip a colony ship out there without anyone knowing._

That seemed incredibly unlikely to Damia. "You don't just move a liner holding thousands without anyone noticing," she said.

"I could think of a few ways," Afra said after a moment.

"HA! It's always the quiet types," Gollee said. "Thinking up the illegal maneuvers."

Afra didn't deign to answer that, and merely looked pensive.

"You're not to go seeking them out, by the way," Gollee said to Damia, shaking a finger at her.

"I won't," she said meekly, sensing that any bad behavior here would come back to her threefold. Dragons! She wouldn't endanger her chances of meeting one someday for _anything_. Then she turned to Afra again. "But can I go once I'm sixteen?"

"There's an array of factors involved," Afra said. "Ask Earth Prime in two years."

_That's forever,_ she said in half-thought, half-sending.

Both Afra and Gollee smiled at that, and she narrowed her eyes at them.

They were all quiet for a few moments then, until Gollee took a breath and said to Afra, "Do you want to tell Earth Prime?"

"I can. I seem to be the wayward son in all of this, anyhow," Afra said.

Gollee chuckled. "I noticed that. It's strange. Usually it's _me_ not toeing the party line."

Damia studied Afra's face, worrying that he was in trouble, or soon to be, but it seemed serene enough. He caught her looking and gazed back at her for a while thoughtfully before unfolding his legs and rising. Offering a hand to Damia to help her to her feet, he said, "Hopefully the Weyrwoman's curiosity has been appeased and she won't be seeking me out everywhere. Unexpected as it was during my free time, it would be worse if it were during a Tower shift when I was handling something." He shifted his weight back to compensate as Damia took his hand and she swung on his hand before allowing him to pull her with pure brute force to her feet. It was kind of fun, doing it without telekinetics; she'd never guessed that Afra was so strong.

"Oooh, I didn't even think about that. She may try to contact me as well."

"I'll ask Earth Prime to speak to her about it," Afra said with a sigh.

"Good call."

"Are you set?" Afra asked Damia then.

Damia still had about a thousand different questions, but both men seemed tired and disinclined to chew over this topic once again just for her benefit. She had the sense that it was a conversation that had been going on in earnest for a while, probably since the rumor came down that Jeran had discovered something. Technically speaking, with Afra's words she'd already heard a lot. She was also just the tiniest bit proud that he had entrusted her with hearing what he had said, so she didn't protest about the conversation being cut short for things as mundane as food and rest, for fear of losing that trust. "Yep," Damia said without protest, and together they teleported out to the yards where both their cradles awaited them.

_Safe trip home,_ Gollee sent them.

_Thank you Gollee,_ Damia said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Shards, it's the Harper. Wonder if he'll know? I didn't actually DO it._

_I hate Domick. I hate him. I wish he'd fall under a tangle of thread and die. It's not fair to make us all live up to Piemur!_

_ Camo: here's the meat. Go bring it to the pretties! Yes, the pretties. Go on, you! There he goes. That's such an awkward way to hold the bowl, but I suppose it's secure and it'll do if it gets there without spilling. Menolly's so patient with him, bless her heart._

Robinton stepped aside to let Camo pass. His son, tall, single-minded, and with less wits than some of the spit-dogs barreled by without a glance at his sire, intent on delivering the firelizards' breakfast. Robinton sighed. Yes, Menolly was extraordinarily patient with him. He quite agreed with Silvina in that regard.

But when he poked his head into the kitchens, he was careful not to voice it. His strange sensitivity to people's true-thoughts had only gotten worse after the meeting with that hand-picked group of Dragonriders, Holders, and Crafters, and sometimes he wasn't quite sure what was _said_ and what was merely thought. So he held his tongue, and listened to the ripples of people wondering if he was taking ill, or merely deep in troubled thought about something important.

Well, that wasn't entirely _inaccurate_. He did have matters on his mind. Either issue he considered—his little thought-reading problem, or the fact that other _stars_ out there also had inhabited planets and men with minds like dragons—these were quite simply issues of a scale he'd never encountered before. It was like the entire foundation of the universe had tilted—and if _he_ thought of these things in such a matter, _he_, the arbitrator of changing outdated tradition for the betterment of Pern...how would everyone else react?

His shoulders almost ached from the weight of that thought, the weight of that role.

"Oh! Robinton—I wasn't expecting you up this early," Silvina said, spotting him entering her domain. Wiping her hands on a cloth, she eyed his fully groomed and dressed stature, quite unusual for this time of morning. Then she began rushing around to pull together a food tray for him. "Did you sleep well?"

A strange under-thought was there—she worried that he hadn't slept _at all_. Which would have been valid in the past, but he'd discovered this past sevenday that if he didn't sleep when the rest of the Hall did, he no longer got any solitude to do so until the next night. Walls were no barrier to thought. He wrapped an absent-minded demeanor around himself, to spare her the worry. "Well enough, well enough," he said airily. "Have you seen—"

Suddenly, Robinton _felt_ something. It was moderately powerful, and somehow feminine, but not in a particularly sexual way. For a moment, he thought that Lessa had somehow reached out to him across the northern continent—but as much as he buried it, Lessa was, and always had been, far from _asexual_.

Zair popped out of _between_ over his left shoulder. _Big auntie_, was the identifier Robinton got from his little friend. Robinton held an arm for the bronze firelizard to land on, and puzzled over that. Then a ripple of minds rippling out from the courtyard told him in fragmented, chaotic way—riders had landed. On Search.

Big auntie. A green dragon, as opposed to Menolly's green firelizards Auntie One and Auntie Two. He snorted. "I suppose that fits," Robinton said. "Big Auntie," he told Silvina, who was watching him with those lovely dark blue eyes of hers. He offered her a half-smile. "Green dragons, on Search. I suppose they'll be wanting to talk to me. Can you get them a bite to eat?"

"Of course. Send a lad back to me with however many of them there are."

He paused, and, said, certain in his guess, "Two greenriders, one brownrider."

She blinked. "If you say so."

Robinton caressed Zair gently, and let her draw whatever conclusions she would from that. Uncomfortably, he also knew that his mis-direction had worked; Zair telling him this wasn't an improbable conclusion in her mind. He quickly turned away, feeling a faint blush of pink staining his cheeks. He was no longer sure that his old methods of misdirection were something he _liked_, now that he could directly observe the results of his manipulation, instead of merely guessing at the outcome. He felt as if he had somehow cheated.

Exiting the kitchens and trying to turn his mind onto the more immediate event instead of worries about thought-reading, he strode down a small stairwell, and into the courtyard, Zair twining his tail about his throat as they went. Blinking in the morning light, Robinton saw that he was correct; two green dragons, one the shade of leaves and the other a dusty darker shade, were settling down on their haunches and forelimbs in a way that showed they intended to be at the Harper Hall for a while. And, behind them, the larger form of a brown stood vigilant, glancing around at the faces that peered out of windows with his whirling blue-green eyes.

Menolly, Camo, and her firelizards were on the other side of the courtyard, and Menolly had placed their bowls of meat on the ground so she could prevent Camo, who was literally jumping up and down in excitement, from barreling over to bother the dragons. The riders began to approach her—aside from Robinton, she was the highest-ranking Harper in the courtyard, and they hadn't seen Robinton yet.

Finally getting Camo to stop bouncing by gathering both of his large hands in hers, Menolly looked over at the riders, and said something. They smiled and responded, and behind her, a few of the firelizards that had had their meal interrupted flew down to start feeding themselves from the bowls, giving her and Camo furtive glances as they gulped down the food without obeying any order of fairness aside from the bigger the 'lizard, the more food they could bully from the others.

_Queens and bronzes eat first; that is the way of things,_ a low, echoing alto voice said in Robinton's mind.

He looked from green to green, trying to determine which had spoken, but was unable to, as they were both looking at their riders and Menolly and seemingly paid him no mind.

_Bring her with us,_ a different female voice said, this one higher with a "brighter" quality.

_What? Bring who?_ Robinton glanced around the courtyard, and Menolly was the only female present, even when he raked his glance over the faces peering out of windows. Recalling that she had, somehow, also heard Earth Prime, Robinton quickened his step and inserted himself into the conversation with the riders, putting a hand on Camo's shoulder as he did so. The man was still jittering, and Robinton was concerned that if he decided to bolt for the dragons anyway, despite Menolly holding onto him, his size would bowl her over. "Good morning, P'lor," he said, addressing the brown rider, who was the only one of the trio he had met prior. "Dare I ask what brings you to the Harper Hall, or is it exactly what it looks like?"

The brownrider, a man in his late forties, chuckled. "It's exactly what it looks like, Masterharper. Fort Weyr comes on Search."

"Fantastic," Robinton said. "Perhaps some lucky lad will have his dreams fulfilled today."

"Or lucky woman," one of the greenriders said, and glanced at Menolly.

Robinton felt his heart sink, dismay gnawing at his guts like a tunnelsnake. It wasn't that he'd begrudged her the chance—but if she was really queen rider material, wouldn't _Lessa_ have claimed her? Put her with Brekke and the rest of the female candidates turns ago during the Hatching Jaxom had Impressed at, before she even entered the Harper Hall? The idea of Menolly being taken as a queen candidate did not sit well with him. He suspected that Menolly would make a much bigger difference in the world as a female Harper than as a junior queenrider—but was that his fear of loosing her talking, or truth? "Fort Weyr has a queen egg on the sands?" he asked, to cover his displeasure.

"One of the loveliest ones I've seen in turns," P'lor said with a grin. "Nearly as big as a Benden queen egg. Of course, that's what happens when N'ton's bronze is the sire." N'ton had originally been a Benden rider, and his dragon had the size advantage over oldtimer beasts.

"Camo see lovelies?" Camo suddenly asked, keying into the word and eyeing the dragons.

"You can see them fine from here, Camo," Robinton said, firming his grip on Camo's shoulder. "They're quite large." Then he nearly snatched his hand away as suddenly a vast, tear-inducing disappointment surged through him. His eyes widened and he quickly _pushed_ back, soothing. "Shh shh shh," he said, patting Camo's shoulder again, and forcing himself to feel happy contentment, in the hopes that some of it would bleed over like that trick with Lord Jaxom.

At the same time, Menolly said, "Camo, we haven't finished feeding the pretties. They're still hungry," and Robinton felt a strange nudge right before Camo turned and looked down at the firelizards stuffing themselves behind his back.

Immediately, Camo waded into the mass of wings and tails and paws and extracted one of the meat bowls as they complained bitterly at him, saying, "No, no, no, _all_ eat, not just big."

It was perhaps the most coherent and thoughtful sentence Robinton had ever heard out of the man, demonstrating a crude understanding of social hierarchy that Robinton hadn't expected him to possess. Yet, he couldn't help but glance over at his Journeywoman and fear that whatever she had done to provoke it had just sealed her fate.

Indeed, the greenrider who had spoken earlier looked like he was about to speak again, but P'lor, perhaps more aware of the undercurrents, put a hand on his arm. "Do we have your permission to enter the Harper Hall on Search, Masterharper?"

"Of course," Robinton said instantly. Then he glanced up at the windows surrounding the courtyard and—there! "Sebell!" he shouted, raising his voice so that it would carry.

"Yes?" the Journeyman shouted down at him, as half the Hall looked on.

Robinton made a wide, beckoning gesture with his arm.

"Coming!" And Sebell's head vanished from the window.

"My Journeyman Sebell will be down shortly," Robinton said. "In the meantime—have you broken your fast? My headwoman can prepare you breakfast, or a something to nibble on—" And with that, he began steering the three riders away from Menolly as fast as he could.

#

An hour later, the three riders had been firmly directed to interrupt Domick's choral rehearsals to speak to some of the boys, much to the Composition Master's dismay and lads' delight, and Sebell was there to field questions from the dragonriders if needed.

Robinton walked as swiftly as his long legs would carry him down the hall, and descended to find Menolly. He'd made a decision as he'd gotten the riders settled in: he would tell Menolly what he suspected. It was perhaps selfish of him, but if they intended to carry her away he wanted to learn of her choice without bystanders watching.

He found her in one of the general use workrooms that she and Sebell often used, sometimes with Talmor or Master Domick. At the moment she was alone. She was going through some of the scores on a shelf, and her firelizards lay sated and lazy from their breakfast on the deep windowsill. "Here you are," Robinton said, settling down on a couch.

She glanced over her shoulder, he long brunette hair slipping off of it to hang in her face before she pushed it back. "Here I am. Do you think one of the girls is going to be Searched?" she asked. She referred to the paying students, the young daughters and nieces and sisters of various Holders that studied music on the theory that they could entertain their households or future mates. Very few of them had any real talent at music, but they were useful to teach his Harpers the meaning of patience, and the goods and marks they brought in benefited the Hall as a whole, and made him less reliant on Lord Groghe for things such as food and fuel.

Robinton studied Menolly's face, knowing she wasn't nearly as naive as she used to be—although, like himself and Sebell, she sometimes found it convenient to play the innocent. He sat on the edge of the table, wondering how exactly to phrase his question without putting undue pressure on her to stay with the Hall. Although he very much wanted her to stay...he had long thought she was past the age of being Searched. "Did you do some sort of trick with Camo?" he asked, stalling as he chose his words.

She suddenly looked uncertain. "I pointed him back at the 'pretties'," she said. "Was that wrong? He got so upset, and I saw you flinch—"

Robinton grimaced. If she had seen him flinch, the dragonriders had as well.

"Only if they knew you like I do," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, for he had said nothing out loud, and she looked away.

Menolly. Developing uncanny abilities, like Lessa, like Brekke.

(Like himself. Well, _that_ didn't matter. He was well, _well_ beyond the age of Impression. If Menolly went to the Weyr, he couldn't follow.)

(He squashed that thought ruthlessly.)

Clearing his throat, Robinton said, "When you were at Benden Weyr, did you ever think of becoming a Weyrsinger?"

She gave him a sharp look, but chose to take his words at face value. "No, of course not. Wanting to be a Harper was audacious enough, in my mind, at _that_ age. Being a musician _and_ a dragonrider?" A quick bit of laughter, followed by a brief, pretty smile. Then both vanished. "I would have loved to show up at Half-Circle on a dragon…I think most children dream of such things, of '_showing_ them', especially when they feel they've been wronged, but, you know, I've never actually heard of anyone newly-Impressed showing up at their old home and having their dragon stomp on silly people who doubted them. I suppose I thought about Impression, but not seriously. Not like with music. I thought maybe becoming a _Harper_ might be a fantasy, but the music never was. Dragons? That would just happen or not on its own."

"That would make a good song," Robinton mused, shifting on his couch and leaning back into the oft-repaired cushions. "The…unattainable dreams, verses the attainable ones." He paused. "And, of course, the tendency for people to confuse which ones _are_ attainable, and which are _not_." He met her thoughtful eyes for a moment. "I think they may Search you today, Menolly," he said, deciding to tell her plainly, without artifice.

Shock froze her for a second, before she reacted. "I—no, Master," she said, shaking her head. "Why would they? Fort Weyr Search riders have been here at least a dozen times in the past six or more turns. They never looked at me."

"You never kept Camo out of trouble right in front of them, either," Robinton said. "And…you can hear Earth Prime. Perhaps, as with…me…this woke something in you."

She gave him another sharp look, and he could feel her agitation crawling up his spine, so he dropped his eyes and tried to keep himself from reacting to the strange sensation.

"Do you _want_ me to leave?" she asked, somewhat confrontational, and he could hear how she wrapped her pangs of uncertainty in more prickly aggression, as if to hide them even from herself. He wondered if she'd learned that trick from Mirrim; Menolly could have a hot temper to rival anyone's when riled. Robinton found it endearing, although he'd always liked women with a "spark". But beneath, he sensed she felt rejected by him—something he hadn't intended.

"This isn't really a case of what I want," he said gently.

_Why isn't he looking at me?_ he heard, the feeling of rejection growing stronger.

He met her eyes briefly. "Sustained eye contact is a mark of an accomplished liar," he said, one corner of his mouth rising. "Then again, so is avoiding it." Then he said, before he could stop himself, "Please don't read too much into my manner right now, Menolly. I feel…a bit over-sensitive to your reactions, like I'm one of your firelizards. Or a…a…firelizard Impressed to the entire Hall. Hearing…every thought, feeling…every feeling." He waved his arms around. "Adjusting to this sort of thing has been piecemeal and a little difficult."

Immediately, her agitation seemed to vanish, and the only thing he could sense was the frustration of some Journeyman working on a project a few rooms down. He blinked at her.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Ah…Yes it is. How did you—"

She shrugged, like it was something she was used to doing.

What a peculiar and wonderful woman. He smiled at her for a second, before schooling his expression into something more sober. "I don't _want_ you to leave, Menolly. You're my Journeywoman. You're a part of my Hall. One of the _best_ parts, might I add." Then he chuckled when her expression did not change. "Ah-ha-ha-ha. You no longer blush—good for you! But it is not my place or desire to stand in your way if Fort Weyr has a queen egg on the sands and asks for you to stand as a Candidate, provided you _want_ to. Perhaps you never dreamed of being a Weyrsinger, but I think that—or hope, at least—under my tutelage you've grown comfortable enough to dream dreams that you never would have dared to dream when you were younger. There _are_ dreams beyond music, that can, if you'll excuse me, harmonize _with_ music. A life-long companion is a common, and very worthy, dream. Sometimes it comes in the form of a spouse. Sometimes it comes in the form of children—your own, or fostered, or nieces, nephews, cousins, or what-have-you. And sometimes it comes in the form of a dragon." _And sometimes it doesn't come at all, or only for a fleeting time,_ Robinton thought—but he didn't voice it. It was still a good dream; he'd seen it work well for many people. It just wasn't meant for him. "Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps the dragons will teach me a lesson for my hubris, and not ask for you. But I think they may, and I wanted to tell you now, instead of," and he waved a hand at the open window, "among who-knows-who, thinking who-knows-what, wanting _you_ to do whatever _they_ think is best, instead of what is best for _Menolly_. I'm telling you this so you have time to really think about it seriously, instead of being pressured in front of an audience. There are times when an audience keeps one on their toes, brings out the best in a Harper. And there are times when a due consideration is required. Dragonriders, by design I believe, are rarely subtle about whisking people away on Search. They break you off from your old life like a branch snapped off of a tree."

"What do you think I would have said if surprised, Master?" Menolly asked him, cocking her head to the side.

"If you were newly come to the Hall, I think you may have said yes. Out of duty. And if you had been surprised today…I think you would have said no. Also out of a sense of duty. Either way, I think you're better served by private warning, so you can consider duty to _yourself_ as well as duty to others."

"That's not advice you take yourself," she reminded him.

"I'm too old to obey my own wisdom," Robinton retorted. "And I have too many things to do."

She shook her head at him. Then she asked, "Is there such a thing as a gold-riding weyrsinger?"

Robinton arched an eyebrow slowly, hiking it higher and higher until she got his point and laughed. He rolled his eyes. "Is there such a thing as—!" Menolly, a woman Harper, shouldn't be one to worry about such things!

Ah-ha. _There_ was her blush, for him catching her not using her own brain! Then, abruptly, he waved their conversation away and rose. "Think about what I said. Come find me if you need me."

"I will, Master. Thank you."

He gave her another smile and ducked out the door.

#

There was a relatively familiar form cooling his heels in front of Robinton's office when Robinton rounded the corner. He immediately checked his pace, and was glad he'd just spoken to Menolly. Odd coincidence that Fort Weyr Search riders would show up, and their Weyrleader, N'ton, at the same time. He sighed, then put a pleasant expression on his face as he came into hearing range. "Good morning, N'ton," he said to the bronzerider's back. "Your men are conducting Search elsewhere in the Hall."

"Good morning Robinton," the man said promptly, turning at the greeting. "Yes, I know. They're good at what they do. I'm here because I wanted to talk to you again about that...thing, we discussed. At Benden."

"You're a brave man, dragonrider," Robinton said with a smile. "You're the first of those initially uninvolved to come speak to me about it. What if you _catch_ something from the association?" He pushed open his door and then showed the Weyrleader in.

N'ton closed the door behind them. "Madness isn't catching," he said, chuckling.

"Well, that depends on your definition of madness. I have often seen some ideas, deemed mad, that spread like wildfire, that spread like thread burrowing into fertile pasture land."

"Are you the one who sets the match?"

Robinton smiled slightly, and did not answer. "Wine?" he offered to deflect the question, touching a partially-full winesack on his desk.

N'ton hesitated, as if he were going to say no, then nodded. "Please."

Taking two glasses down from a shelf and holding them in his left hand with a finger ensuring they didn't clink against one another, he filled both only half-way in deference to the early time of day, and extended his arm and forefingers to offer N'ton one of them. When the dragonrider liberated that from him, he put the winesack away and took a sip from the remaining glass before cradling it in his hands. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything?" the dragonrider said almost flippantly. "I didn't see whatever it was that happened to convince some of the others. I heard what you _told_ us—that someone spoke to you mind-to-mind. What if it was a dragon and rider pair, playing an elaborate trick on you?"

"On me, and Lessa, and F'lar, and Lytol, and Brekke, and—"

N'ton raised a hand to fend off the litany. "I heard Weyrwoman Lessa's defense too. I think you know, Robinton, that despite your songs we dragonriders are not infallible." He paused. "What I really want to know, I suppose, is what it was _like_."

There was a soft clearing of a throat, and both men looked up and scanned the room. But there was no one there.

_I expect it was something like this,_ a strong voice that was now familiar to Robinton said quietly in their heads.

Still, familiar now or not, Robinton jumped slightly, and it was a good thing his wine glass was only half full. "You have the timing of a Harper, sir," Robinton said. "Which is both admirable, but also potentially problematic, for reasons mentioned before," and Robinton slipped one of the tomes that he'd been given from a stack of them, and waggled it at N'ton. "Run that down to our Master Archivist if you want when you leave, and ask if he's seen anything like it. I've not shown anyone in the Hall but my Journeymen yet." Then, to the mind speaking to them, as if he did this sort of thing every day, "Do I sense Masters Afra and Gollee with you again?"

_Yes you do,_ Jeff confirmed.

_Good morning, Masterharper,_ Afra's light tenor mental voice said.

_Yes, we're here, Master Robinton,_ Gollee said. _Your Journeywoman is coming this way, as well, so there will be three of us on each side._

N'ton glanced at Robinton. Robinton shrugged, and a moment later there was a tap on the door.

"Come in, Menolly," Robinton said, not doubting what the Talent had told him.

The door opened, and Menolly poked her head in. "Master, I thought—oh," and she spotted N'ton.

_Good morning, Journeywoman Menolly_, Earth Prime said.

Robinton saw she was torn between N'ton's presence, and the presence of Earth Prime, and unsure of how to react to either. So he decided to hurry resolution along. "Menolly, come in. Do you want some wine too?"

She entered, and shut the door behind her. "Ah, no sir," she said, as he expected.

"N'ton—do your men intend to Search Menolly?"

Robinton saw—and felt—the Weyrleader's surprise, and the Fort Weyrleader gave a swift glance at Menolly. Then his gaze became distant as he communicated with his dragon.

Menolly gave Robinton a distressed look at this, and he phlegmatically shrugged at her. "Bear with us, Earth Prime," Robinton said.

_Of course. Is it a bad time?_

Robinton flicked his fingers dismissively, then, realizing they couldn't be seen, said, "I would like to hear what you came here to say. This should be resolved momentarily."

N'ton, done with his silence communication with his dragon, sat forward on his chair, and rested his hands on his knees.

But before he spoke Robinton could hear the negative. It was tinged with an odd deference to the Harper.

Robinton immediately caught the Weyrleader's eye and raised an eyebrow.

N'ton blinked, frowned, then turned to Menolly, and Robinton could feel his decision turn over and reverse. "I can't imagine that Master Robinton would _want_ to lose you," he said. "But you're welcome to come with us, if you like. We do have a queen egg on the sands."

"_My_ desires are immaterial, N'ton, Menolly, both by tradition and choice," Robinton said, just to make it clear. He turned his attention to the men-from-the-stars. "Have you made headway on my request?" he inquired.

N'ton looked baffled for a moment, clearly thinking, _What request?_ then he realized Robinton was not speaking to him.

_We have,_ Earth Prime said, and following Robinton's lead, let Menolly alone to decide what she would decide. _However, given what we know of your communication technologies, we thought it might require a bit of explanation. Afra mentioned, last time we spoke, that the creation of those books we sent to you is not a time-intensive and labor-intensive process. Our engineers—Smiths, you would call them—have built machinery that can duplicate a page in seconds with extreme fidelity, all the way down to nearly-invisible flaws. Likewise, we have developed means of recording sound and vision that are so close to the real thing as to be indistinguishable. Portraiture, without the painter bias or even style, and music, with the individual musician bias that makes a particular instrumentalist great. That is to say, if our machines are running at an event, we can capture a particular musician's interpretation of a particular song at a particular moment in time, and generations afterwards can watch and hear it performed so._

"I don't see how such a thing could be possible," N'ton said.

"By the way—Weyrleader N'ton, this is Earth Prime Jeff Raven, along with two of his Master Talents Gollee Gren and Afra Lyon. Gollee Gren is his second at Earth Tower, while Afra Lyon is the second at Callisto Tower. Earth Prime, Master Talents, this is Weyrleader N'ton, of Fort Weyr, and his bronze dragon Lioth. They were not present the night you introduced yourself to us at Benden Weyr, however he is aware that you made contact with us."

_It is a pleasure to meet you, Weyrleader N'ton,_ Earth Prime said. _And Lioth._

_Likewise,_ N'ton said, although from the crease between the dragonrider's brows, Robinton was not convinced he _was_ pleased.

Lioth was not so constrained by diplomacy. Which didn't surprise Robinton, although being able to hear it _did_. _Ramoth does not like you,_ he told the Talents in a voice that sounded very much like N'ton's.

_I'm sorry to hear that,_ Earth Prime said. _Weyrwoman Lessa and I both had the same goal, of protecting the Harper from harm during my introduction. And like two people rushing to the same task at the same time, we smacked into one another, and it left a few bruises. Nothing malign was intended._

N'ton glanced at Robinton; he'd heard nothing of this.

Robinton spread his hands and shrugged. He turned the subject. "I am interested in how you manage to capture vision and sound," Robinton said, for he could not see how such a thing was possible either, and dwelling on the negative aspects of Jeff Raven's and Lessa's...scuffle...at this time was counter-productive. If Earth Prime chose to characterize the swat he'd received—which Robinton had been well aware of at the time even if the blow hadn't landed on himself—as a product of misunderstanding only, of two cooks rushing around the kitchen and knocking over the soup pot, Robinton wasn't going to press the issue. "Do you use some property of mirrors we're unaware of?"

_No, we use different properties, although they are easy enough to demonstrate. May I put something on your desk?_

Robinton eyed his cluttered desk and rose to gather up some stray hides and turned to dump them in a corner. However, Menolly was there, and took them from him firmly, and put them where _she_ deemed they were best suited. "Thank you, Menolly," he said, and together they quickly opened up a clear spot. "Now you may," Robinton said.

Suddenly a woman's jeweled box and another book, this one long and rectangular and gaudily painted, appeared. N'ton stared at them, and Robinton reached down to take up the book.

_I apologize for the frippery of choice,_ Earth Prime said. _The two items were my daughter's when she was younger, and she's graciously allowed me to use them as examples._

_Do you have daughters, Masterharper?_ a female voice suddenly said, intensely curious in Robinton's mind. It was perhaps the most soothing mental contact he'd had since all of this started...although Robinton couldn't quite finger _why._

_Damia!_ Earth Prime bellowed.

_Damia!_ Gollee Gren scolded at the same time.

_Out, Coonie,_ Afra said dryly. _If the others haven't made their point already._

She was still there, however, in Robinton's mind. _I just wanted to know because if you DO you can give those to them once Dad's done with them,_ she said in a hurry. Had she been speaking aloud, her words would have run together. Then, she said, _If she doesn't go to the Weyr, may I train Menolly? She's a very strong telepath..._

"I do not have daughters, Lady Damia, but if I did, I would hope they were all like you!" Robinton said, laughing. Then he realized she'd already vanished in the wake of a strong sense of censure from the elder Talents. "Oh, I don't think she heard me." He glanced over at Menolly. "Do you think you'd get along with young Damia there?" he queried.

"Was that a female Piemur?" she asked with half a smile.

Robinton snorted, thinking the terror a female as independent, impudent, and irresistibly charming as that little fiend would cause.

_Who is Piemur?_ Earth Prime asked.

"He's Master Robinton's third student," Menolly said.

"He's a trouble-making scamp. I had to take him under my wing lest he drive my Masters insane," Robinton said. "I sacrifice myself for the greater good."

_"Trouble-Making Scamp"_ _is a good moniker for Damia too,_ Gollee Gren said with a chuckle.

_She's a minx,_ Afra agreed, although Robinton sensed fondness behind the reserved man's words.

_As you can see, Afra and Gollee know my youngest daughter only too well._

"Was the offer of training genuine, sir?" Menolly asked.

There was a hesitation, then a sense that the three Talents might be conversing where the Pernese could not hear.

_Her _desire_ was genuine,_ Jeff Raven said finally. _But, understand, she is not yet an adult, and not complete in her own training. She is also not authorized to speak on behalf of the Nine Star League or the FT&T, much like an Apprentice Harper could not speak on behalf of the Harper Hall. I cannot promise her offer will come to fruition...but we can consider it, once negotiations are further along. She _is_ right, you are a strong telepath, Miss Menolly. Some day—not today—I would get your Master's permission to speak to you about being mentally linked to all those firelizards._

"Someday—not today—I might grant it," Robinton said amiably. And he opened the small book he still held. It was almost entirely covered in pictures, with a little text worked in here and there, in clouds of breath exuding from the mouths of...runner foals? He showed it to N'ton.

Earth Prime seemed to know attention had shifted. _You'll notice one corner is bent and curled. If you look at that corner, you'll see a repeating picture of a horse that is slightly different on each page. If you flip through the corner you will see an illusion whereby the horse—or runner, as you call it—seems to gallop._

Robinton and N'ton observed this was so.

_This small illusion of the eye is the basis on which we are able to produce pictures that move. Now, let's take a look at the musical box…_

The "musical box" proved to have a small metal comb in it, which was pushed up against a metal cylinder which had bumps on it. As each bump passed under a tine of the comb, a note sounded, like miniature tuning forks. Robinton turned a small key in its bottom and a few bars of tune played, over and over again.

It was completely and utterly ingenious. He turned the partially-disassembled musical box around in his fingers, examining the mechanism. The metalwork was as fine as any he'd encountered—but _not_ beyond anything he'd seen Master Fandarel or even the Hall's own Master Jerint do.

"Master Robinton?" N'ton asked.

"Mm?"

"May I see?"

"Oh. Yes, yes of course," and he passed the toy—literally a toy, _children_ played with such fabulous things in the stars—over to the Fort Weyrleader as his mind whirled with the possibilities. Menolly's Firelizard Song. In a _box_. With a little firelizard wrought on top. For the first time in turns, Robinton's thoughts turned to the more material aspects of his Craft. Would his modest abilities in this area suffice? Probably not; he couldn't remember the last time he had worked with metal. Wood had always behaved better for him.

_If you will allow, we will now transport the proof of our existence that you desired, Master Robinton, _Earth Prime said, gently breaking into his thoughts. _It employs the same principals, just in more...dramatic...form._

"Go ahead," Robinton said, then rescued the musical box as N'ton began to set it on his desk, so he could tilt it back and forth in the light from a window to see how the tiny wheels and cogs worked together.

_Behind you,_ the Talents told them a moment later, and Robinton glanced up—to see an extremely under-whelming table that hadn't been there before taking up a portion of his floor space. It looked nothing like the book or musical box.

Robinton regarded it pensively for a moment, and then spoke. "I don't see how—"

A spark appeared in the air above the table, silvery-shimmering like a star, before expanding into a constellation of nine motes. The sweet-sound of an impeccably played fanfare reverberated through the room, and Robinton, turning his head, realized the constellation was three-dimensional.

_This is a tri-d tank,_ Earth Prime said, as Robinton sprang to his feet and paced around it, looking at the little spangle of stars hovering in the air from a few different perspectives. Then he paused in surprise as the stars flared and morphed into the image of a white runner stallion with wide, feathery bird-wings. It tossed its head with a snort, pawing the ground, and beneath its silver hooves, a phrase appeared:

**Federated Telepath & Teleport**

Which then condensed, letters going _between_ one by one into:

**FT&T**

_I recorded this message yesterday afternoon, _Earth Prime murmured into their minds, the words both a warning and a deftly passed bundle of knowledge: the events they were about to see _had already happened_.

A man, from the chest and desktop up, appeared floating above the tri-d.

"That's _you_," Robinton identified, recognizing the strong facial features and vivid blue eyes.

He felt Jeff Raven's assent.

Then the figure above the table spoke.

_Greetings, Lords, Weyrleaders, and Masters. My name is Jeff Raven, Earth Prime of the FT&T, and I am contacting you on behalf of the Nine Star League—_

Robinton attempted to pay attention to the content of Earth Prime's recorded message, but swiftly realized that his mind had scattered in thirty directions at once, as if he'd been shown too many things to assimilate in too short a period. The first thing to strike him was _not_ how the message Earth Prime had sent to them in this tri-d would impact the Conclave when they saw it, or even the content of the man's message, but how _odd_ the man's accent was. It was...it was...he began to silently shape the words in his mouth, in order to perhaps aid recognition and comprehension of content by tongue-feel alone, then wished for Sebell's even more-facile ear as he missed some of the inflections as the "recording" carried on.

"Wait. Stop," N'ton said, not quite as affable as Robinton was to learning by immersion.

The recording stopped mid-syllable, Earth Prime's mouth left in a funny pursing-gesture.

_Yes, well,_ Jeff Raven said into Robinton's mind with a distinct air of amusement—towards _himself_ and the unflattering pause sequence. But he left it, Robinton read, because he'd rather not impede Robinton's progress in understanding the technology, no matter if this "frame" was unflattering.

_At least it's not kissy-faces,_ Gollee Gren said to them lightly, just as Robinton began to wonder if Earth Prime was more insulted at appearing so than he seemed.

And suddenly the recording resumed...then _went backwards_...and resumed again, so Earth Prime's image on the tri-d was looping through the most ridiculous set of faces Robinton had ever seen.

All three Pernese in the room burst into raucous, uncontrollable laughter—the laughter of two men and a woman who were awed by the technology one moment, and then presented with a ridiculous situation straight out of a farce using that same astonishing machine. There were, perhaps, touches of hysteria spurring the reaction.

_I utterly sacrifice my dignity on the altar of the Nine Star League!_ Earth Prime intoned, with heavy undertones of resignation and, oddly, pleasure that people were finding it amusing, even at his own expense. It seemed, he was proving Robinton's fears wrong. The man was not so easy to insult.

Still...Robinton reigned in his laughter as quickly as he could, drawing on turns' experience in harpering. "My apologies, Earth Prime—" Robinton began, massaging his sore jaw muscles.

_There is no need for apologies. I fully understand the urge to laugh at me. My wife does it all the time._

At this, there were additional blue spikes of amusement from both Gollee Gren and Afra Lyon, who were otherwise silent.

"Well then, I appreciate a man who doesn't take himself all that seriously," Robinton said, and took a moment to try to do what these Talents did to him—he attempted to shoot a sense of his own gratitude at them. Then he turned back to the Fort Weyrleader. "N'ton—why did you want it to stop?" he asked, looking at the bronzerider. Then he shifted his attention back to the Talents again. "If N'ton tells it to start, will it?"

N'ton wiped ineffectively at the corners of his eyes, which were wet with tears. "I wanted clarification on what was actually being said," he said between soft, chesty chuckles as he worked to get his own amusement under control still. "I'm not familiar with the accent, and I don't have a Harper's ears," he admitted, as Menolly came closer to them.

"This Harper's ears weren't helping, I'm afraid," Robinton said. "Menolly—what do you have there?"

"Master Lyon said this controls it," Menolly said, kneeling by the tri-d table and holding some sort of small, glowing box in her hands, although Robinton had not heard Afra Lyon say anything aside from his introduction this morning.

_That's the remote, yes. Or "controller",_ Earth Prime confirmed.

Menolly poked at the small box in her hands, and suddenly the figure in the tri-d began to move again...in reverse. Then it went forward, and then with a third poke the image completely vanished. "Oh!" Menolly said in distress.

But before anyone could get worked up about the tri-d's visuals vanishing, suddenly the star appeared again in the center of the tank, burst apart into nine stars with the same few bars of music from before, before transforming into the—

_ —Pegasus_, someone told him.

—the pawing, snorting pegasus.

And the _**F**__ederated __**T**__eleport __**&**__**T**__elepath_ became _**FT&T **_once again as letters went _between_ one by one. Then Earth Prime's image began his monologue a second time, fish-face forgotten.

_You can rewind and review at your leisure,_ the Prime confirmed. _In fact, I would suggest doing so when you can, as I am not adverse to...ah...modifying it, if you feel that would benefit both of our peoples most, given that linguistic shifts may have altered the meaning of some of the words I use, and then we can meet at another time to ensure that the tri-d tank meets your needs for Pern's Conclave?_

Robinton nodded slowly. Yes; if the accent stood out for him so much, it was reasonable to think that certain words might not mean to the Pernese what Jeff thought they did. There were dialects from far away holds that had those properties. Very astute to recommend a review of this speech first, if Jeff would not be speaking to all of them directly, mind-to-mind, or even through the avatar of Robinton's body, translating on the fly. "I think that would be best. Thank you, Earth Prime, for fulfilling my request so rapidly."

_It was my pleasure, Masterharper Robinton. Afra Lyon has shown your Journeywoman Menolly how to operate the controller; if you need any more assistance, please don't be unafraid to ask. We're just a thought away, as we say, and two of your own know the path._ And then, as suddenly as they had arrived, they were gone.

Gone almost too suddenly, yet Robinton could feel his head spinning from everything. How could their meeting be so short, yet so full of information?

"What did he mean by that?" N'ton asked. "Lioth says _he_ can not speak to Earth Prime; he is very far away."

Robinton shook his head. "I don't know, but perhaps Lessa—" then his eye landed on Menolly. Slowly, he began to realize that, regardless of their reluctance to pledge Damia as a tutor for Menolly—and indeed, Robinton's lack of outright consent, or even Menolly's consent beyond a momentary wistful wish—perhaps they had shown her more than the use of that glowing box. "Menolly; will you be leaving with the Search riders today?" he asked, with perhaps less finesse than was his wont.

N'ton looked perplexed at the swift seeming change of topic, then his eyes widened slightly as he comprehended.

Menolly fiddled with the controller, then glanced up, and looked at N'ton, not Robinton. "I'll be staying with the Harper Hall. This is my place. But thank you."

"That's a shame for us, but I'm sure your Master is relieved," N'ton said with a smile edged by dimples, although it was clear he was thinking through the implications of Menolly's decision...not only not to go to the Weyr, but to possibly, some day, go to this FT&T. The smile left as quickly as it came. "Master Robinton...I got more here today than I expected, although I'm unsure I understand it all yet."

Robinton nodded slowly in empathy.

"Would it be amiss if I returned here later to listen to _that_ again?"

"As long as everyone involved is discreet, that is fine by me. Menolly can obviously escort you in here if I am not around, and I'll make sure Journeyman Sebell can do the same."

"Then...thank you," and N'ton seized Robinton's hand and clasped it firmly, as if Robinton had done him an especial favor.

"My pleasure?" Robinton said, and watched as N'ton withdrew his hand drained what little was left in his wine glass and left.

As the door shut behind the Fort Weyrleader, Robinton turned to Menolly. "Menolly; if the FT&T has their equivalent of Search riders..._would_ you go with them?"

Menolly fiddled with the controller again, and the tri-d tank came alive again with its Nine Stars and pawing Pegasus before going silent and dark. Then it jumped ahead, and Jeff's careful monologue softly filled the room again. "I don't think it works that way; it might be closer to cross-Crafting." And she glanced up at him hopefully. "If they...and you...allow his daughter to train me...that would be a useful exchange of knowledge, yes?" Then she smiled wistfully. "I'd like to see the stars."

And although the thought of losing Menolly to the FT&T was just as unsettling as the thought of losing Menolly to the Weyrs, and perhaps moreso since they weren't even Pernese (and when had he started to pick up such insular world-views?), he couldn't begrudge or deny that dream. What _would_ it be like to see another star? That was something he'd like to do himself, some day. So, perhaps recklessly, he made a promise. "If negotiations come to a point where we exchange students, or fosterlings...I'll allow her to come here...or let you go to her. Assuming that everyone's safety is assured, of course."

Her wistful smile turned into a more knowing, grinning one. "If that happens, I'll write lots of songs about it for you!"

"Of course you will, my Harper girl!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Weyrwoman Lessa watched as a thirty-second Weaver mark turned on its edge and rolled slowly across the table, navigating around a brush, a pot of klah, two different piles of threadfall reports, and under a wax tablet propped up on that Nine Star League book, all without toppling or wobbling in its journey. Had the slow movement not caught her eye, she would have thought F'lar was merely in one of his black moods, as he sat brooding at the table, wherhides thrown carelessly over the other chair. He seemed to be staring at nothing in particular with that amber gaze of his, but if you watched long enough, every so often his eyes adjusted on the mark's new position, as if sight was secondary to his perception of its progress.

Lessa wasn't sure what to make of her mate's new ability. It was nothing like her own, yet just eerie enough to make her uncomfortably aware of how unwelcome among ordinary men and women any sort of "Talent" was. Her instincts were right; you didn't _show_ these sorts of things to just anyone.

Then she grimaced. Already she was using _their_ word for it! Talent. Didn't Pern have its own words for such things? No, she supposed not. She had never had the intention of finding others and training them in her own gifts. She had to question the sanity somewhat of this Nine Star League creating an entire Craft out of it; some knowledge was just too dangerous to spread. She'd never had to give what she did a name; she knew exactly what it was, and nobody else needed to.

Yet, since they _did_ have a Craft for it already, and that knowledge _was_ out there, it was only a matter of time before those more ambitious and less high-minded than, say, Robinton, reached for it. Lord Groghe was perfectly right. Thus she was put in the position of having to reach for these abilities first.

But the man, Afra Lyon, had warned against that, had urged caution when she had bruised Robinton's mind, and had urged it again when she had reached all the way to Earth to say...hello. Lessa fingered the fantastic yellow paper dragon he had gifted her with, then set it gently down on a shelf with other choice trinkets a few familiar people had gifted to her, such as that small, beautifully etched flute Robinton had given her several turns ago.

Who was this man? This "Lyon"? And was there any chance at all that his advice and help had more than his own self-interests—or interests of his FT&T—in them? She did not sense deception in him, like she could sometimes with other men, but he had the advantage of being one of the most well-developed minds she had ever encountered, short of his own two companions. He had a deep well of self-assured control that somehow affected her without meaning to, like sitting at the edge of a still, smooth pond in the mountains changed the mood of the viewer. The mountain pond was unaware of the effect it had on visitors; it just _was_. Likewise, Afra Lyon seemed like one of those men who also _just was_. And although he characterized himself as a helper, an accessory to his Primes, not a power in his own right...why would an alliance of...Nine Stars...send a _nobody_ to make contact with Pern? She had no indication that discovering a new world was such a small event, even to people such as them.

Caution, patience, waiting. These were the things that Afra Lyon counseled her. Yet, when the time came, he was the _only_ one of them that had taken action and _taught_ her. He'd shown her how to ease a headache—something she'd subtly applied to F'lar with good results and Mnementh's approval after a long threadfall a few days ago. Afra had shown her where her self-made shields could be improved even, a move that could have no benefit to the Nine Star League if picking Pern's secrets from her mind was what they wanted. It had taken less than a second to show her both these things, but he had _done_ it while that Jeff Raven and Gollee Gren had been silent.

F'lar, without any teacher at all, continued to move his little wooden mark around the table. Action, doing—it was one of the things she loved about him, one of the things that rang true to her own soul, that desire to forge one's own path.

But Afra Lyon preached patience. _I can't do that,_ she told Ramoth, and felt her beloved queen's attention on her...her _patient_ attention. She made a sound of disbelief at Ramoth, and felt the dragon's wicked humor. How could she sit still and do nothing, knowing the extreme disadvantage she—and her planet—were at?

But...to practice? Like F'lar? Lessa had manipulated minds before, oh yes. But not on a whim. Never on a whim. And although Benden had numerous enemies that liked to claim she and her mate wanted nothing more than power, this was not true. They had been near-handed the world when the Ninth Pass had begun, and turned it down.

So how did one "practice" mind reading? Mind _bending_? The thought of navigating a living human being through an obstacle course like F'lar did with the mark was abhorrent.

_Rap rap._

Lessa turned towards the door, and answered it, a frown on her face and tongue ready to tear _someone_ into shreds for the interruption. But instead of some unfortunate bluerider, or mundane worker, Brekke stood there, a roll of hides in her hands, reports obviously destined for the Weyrwoman's gaze.

_ Brekke._

Lessa stared at her. Brekke had been a goldrider. Brekke was the weyrmate of F'lar's half-brother F'nor. Brekke, like Lessa, could hear all dragons. And Brekke knew about the Nine Star League and the FT&T.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Brekke had similar telepathic "Talent" as well.

_Those are the tithe reports?_ Lessa asked, mind-to-mind.

Brekke stared at her.

_Give them to me,_ Lessa said, and held out her hand. Brekke passed the records to her. Lessa turned and walked over to set them on the table near F'lar's elbow. He did not move, and the mark continued to wind its way around the table, guided by his mind.

Then Lessa went back out the door, and shut it. _Can you clear your schedule for the next seven-day?_

"I—" Brekke said.

_You _do_ hear me?_ If Robinton could hear her, with his whisper of Talent, she _knew_ Brekke could.

An assenting nod.

_Right. Clear your schedule. And we will practice mind-reading on one another._

#

Rowan's fingers tapped quickly on the edge of Afra's console. "Afra."

Afra glanced up from his work, his face softly expressionless and his shields damnably firm. "Yes, Rowan?"

Around them, there was a subtle rise in tension, as the Rowan's crew picked up the hints that there might be a confrontation between the Prime and her twic. Rowan felt irritation at this change in emotional temperature, then felt resigned. As her irritation seeped away, she concluded that Afra had trained her well. She didn't even have to see or feel his subtle chiding now for it to correct her moodiness. Merely imagining it had the same effect. She sighed. "Come up to my Tower," she said. The heavier shielding on it would cut out her crew's wariness scratching across her empathic mind and it would de-escalate the irritation of mutually sensitive egos sandpapering past one another.

"As you wish," Afra said politely, and rose.

When they were upstairs, and the doorway into her tower closed, she waved him towards his normal comfortable chair. "When were you going to tell me you were leaving?"

Afra sat in the chair, and clasped his hands in front of his knees in that patient, unafraid, but politely deferential posture. "Nothing's confirmed yet; Jeff has involved me in preliminary talks only at this point. And they are very preliminary. It could be years." _Turns,_ his mind softly echoed, and a concept was passed along: the Pernese year.

Rowan studied her second in command, then snorted. Well, at least he wasn't going to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. He used to try that on her. "But you didn't mention you were considering this—or involved in it."

He looked at her quietly. "I'm only required to report _official_ transfer requests to my Prime," he said.

"Oh Afra," Rowan said, and sank down to her couch. "Aren't I your friend?"

Blinking, he said immediately, "Of course." And that proclamation was backed by the silent strength he'd always exhibited. He was her friend, and always would be. Afra was a dauntingly loyal man. "But...my motivations are complicated."

"Are you bored?"

Afra hesitated.

"You know that _I_ get bored," she said. "We make such an ado during training of how important a Prime's work is, but it's hardly intellectually challenging after a few years, even if it requires the mental muscles to be kept in perfect shape. Yet, the dangers of becoming less than vigilant..." She made a grimace of distaste. A less-than-vigilant telekinetic throw could, at best, 'port to an unexpected but not-disastrous location. At worst, you could loose human lives by 'porting into a sun or the molten core of a planet.

"The desire to visit Pern may be boredom," he allowed. "I try to keep active, intellectually and physically, but..." He shrugged.

Indulging in diplomatic relations with a world populated with alien telepaths would indeed give him a drastically different change of intellectual pace.

Yet, that was _exactly_ what she feared. Jeff had tried to hide it, pass it off as an ordinary tension headache, but Rowan had encountered enough over-stressed minds—albeit with lesser T-ratings—to realize he'd been hit with something _big_. That anything could do that to a _Prime_...and _her husband_...well, her argument with Jeff on _that_—and his choice _not_ to let her know until after the event—had chased Damia and Larak and the others off of Callisto until the air cleared.

And if that's what happened to _Jeff_...what if Afra got into trouble? His mind would crumple like tissue. Deep inside, she wasn't quite sure what she'd do if she'd lost one of her oldest friends.

_I've talked to the Weyrwoman since then,_ Afra said, catching her worries, and trying to soothe them. _Her actions, and those of her dragon, were not entirely unjustifiable._

Rowan frowned. Afra couldn't be suggesting that her husband had _deserved..._

_Rowan. Think logically; how would _most_ people react to that possession-trick of Jeff's if they were unaware of Talent? Think of how most people react even when they _are_ aware of Talent? Lady Lessa is...she has a protective streak._

There was an odd feeling to that last line, as if Afra was realizing something even as he said it, and trying to keep it from Rowan. She caught part of it anyhow. "She reminds you of someone?"

He hesitated again, then looked her in the eye. "I suppose you," he said. "Except harder, rougher, more...hungry. In some ways."

Rowan sat back on her couch in surprise. "How so?"

The handsome Capellan shook his head. _I'm not sure I can articulate it, yet,_ he thought. _I've only met her a few times, and she has always been driven by an intense goal to protect her world, or people she is close to, during these encounters. The Nine Star League as a whole is intimidating._ He paused once more. _Perhaps that IS it. You protect your own as well, Rowan._

She felt a surge of gratification that Afra recognized it that she tried to suppress. Sometimes the people she worried about did not appreciate her efforts—yet, it meant _so much_ to her that she had anyone to care about at all. But never mind that. She probed further. "So you'd join the delegation to Pern because of this 'Weyrwoman'?"

Afra seemed to backpedal. "_Because_ of her? No," Afra said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "You and I are speaking about her because you were afraid for my safety. And unless I insult her I don't think I will be in immediate danger. But she's not the primary contact. A man named Masterharper Robinton is. For the moment, at least." Suddenly subtle laugh-lines appeared at the corners of his golden eyes. "Master Robinton is a...unique...individual. If you get the chance to 'path him, you should, Rowan. He's a receiving telepath only, but has little fear of double-paths. He seems to have a slight cultural conditioning towards telepathy. Their revered dragons can read thoughts, and there's little he can do to stop that, so he just accepts it and goes about his day."

"If only we could convince our people to do that," Rowan said.

Afra nodded, and continued. "Their culture is orally passed on, and he has an astonishing array of memorized poetry and songs just below the surface of his thoughts. They don't rely on writing as much, and don't have any computer technologies at all to assist in knowledge preservation. So they stretch their memories, and their minds."

"Sounds like quite the character," she murmured. _You're certainly enthusiastic about this, aren't you?_ Afra was not prone to sudden outbursts of expansiveness.

The laugh-lines vanished, and although he didn't project the feeling, she knew he was worried at how she was taking this. _It's an evolving situation—_

She cut him off. _Oh Afra, I'm not a witch. You've been working here for over two decades, just like me, stuck up here most of the time on a barren moon, and you don't even have a spouse or children to take up your time and keep you company—_

"Thank you for loaning me yours," he said dryly.

"Oh, is _that_ what you and Jeff get up to sometimes?" she shot back.

He stared at her for a heartbeat as he processed her words.

And then _boom_ his shields became tight and he steadfastly_ did not react_ in that way that meant she'd managed to shock him. She began to laugh, because it was damnably difficult to pull the rug out from under Afra's feet these days. The naive, sheltered Capellan was long worn away. Well, _mostly_.

The idea of spouse-borrowing seemed to hit close to home.

He rubbed a hand through his blond hair. "I stepped right into that."

She laughed harder.

_What's all the funny about?_ Jeff Raven, apparently at a lull in his work day at Earth Tower, said.

_Afra just thanked me for the loan of my spouse and children!_ Rowan said merrily.

There was silence from Jeff for a moment. Then, _Wow. And I thought _Gollee_ was to blame for all those nights where I woke up not knowing where I was or how I'd gotten there..._

Rowan glanced at Afra, and he stared at a point above her shoulder. Then he shook his head, giving her a _don't you believe him_ look.

_What are you two talking about anyway, mmm, love?_ Jeff asked archly.

_I wanted to know why he's leaving Callisto for Pern._

Jeff abruptly became more serious. _Rowan—_

_Oh, don't _you_ try to handle me too! I see _why_ he wants to go. I see _very well_ why he wants to go..._

Afra cleared his throat. "Rowan, as I said it's not an official decision—"

She cut him off. "Go! Go. You can go. My permission isn't needed. Or if it is, I give it. But if you get into trouble, you had _better_ yell for help! Unlike _one_ moron I know of..." And she gave Afra a stern look while simultaneously directing a chide in Jeff's mental direction.

"Of course," Afra said.

"Good."

_Ah. Good,_ Earth Prime agreed, as if he'd been a man expecting more resistance, and a mere chiding was much milder than he'd been prepared to deal with.

Rowan rolled her eyes at her spouse. _Husband,_ she thought. _Afra and I have cargo to clear; Brian's been hovering at a discreet distance with this morning's lineup but he'll start threatening to quit if we don't get moving soon. So if you'll excuse us..._

Jeff's presence vanished from their minds. Afra, also, took that as a sign to rise.

"Be _careful_, Afra," Rowan said as the door slid open for him.

"When I next encounter them, I will be," he promised with a slight bow for the way her worry honored him.

She nodded and turned to her Tower console.

#

"So why did the Harper recall me from Southern?" Piemur asked Sebell, attempting to match the taller man pace for pace and failing. A little annoyed, Piemur started trotting. He _knew_ he'd grown entire inches in the past few months running around in the wilds of the Southern continent, the shortening of his trousers had proved it, but around someone as lanky as Sebell, it was more or less all for nothing. He was still a runt. So he trotted with Sebell towards the front entry of the Harper Hall. "There must be a reason for it."

"_That_ is a question for the Harper," Sebell said cryptically.

"...is he mad at me? Did I somehow cause whatever this is about?"

Sebell looked startled, then broke into laughter, teeth flashing in his brown face.

"What?"

Sebell shot him another look and laughed even harder. "If it turns out _you_ caused this, we'd have to tie you up to the post and whip you...or promote you to Master for being a Master Trickster!"

Piemur frowned. Was Robinton's senior Journeyman jesting about the enormity of things just to worry Piemur, or was something really big _actually_ afoot?

Sebell looked down at him a third time, and continued chortling to himself.

A little while later, they were in the Hall proper, and Sebell rapped lightly on the Masterharper's door. Robinton called them in, and Piemur found himself in an office that had little changed since the last time he'd been here over a turn ago, aside from the addition of a strange little table pushed up against the far left wall. Unlike every other bit of furniture in the place, its surface was uniquely clean of tablets, slates, scraps of hide, and instruments.

"Here he is," Sebell said to Master Robinton, who was leaning forward in his chair, carefully going through the most precisely-made book Piemur had ever seen, and making notes with a thin stylus in the wet surface of his sandtable. "He worries _he_ instigated this mess."

Robinton glanced up incredulously, blue eyes widening with theatrical flare, then burst into laughter himself. Sebell joined him.

_Right. It was a legitimate question. Whenever you're all done laughing at me..._Piemur thought a bit ungraciously. Also, his feet hurt from the "new" shoes Sebell had appropriated for him once it became clear that Piemur's own were both unsalvageable and too small from months of wandering through jungle.

The Harper immediately stopped laughing. "Sit," he said. "We'll get you some proper shoes in a bit. Take those off if you need to."

Piemur hesitated for a moment, because it seemed a bit rude to take his shoes off and display his rough, weathered, scarred and calloused feet to everyone, but his feet _did_ ache, and the Masterharper _had_ said he could, so he found a stool to sit on, and reached down to divest his footwear. Had he been shift-footed enough for the Harper to notice?

Continuing to make notes in the wet sand, Robinton seemed to become lost in his work again, but then after a while made a motion to dismiss Sebell. Sebell left, closing the door behind him, and Robinton returned to his work.

Piemur finished taking his shoes off, and sat on the stool, waiting.

That really was a peculiar tome, wasn't it? Without being too obviously a snoop, he tried to get a better look at it, but all he saw were things that confused him more. He'd spent his time in the Archives. He knew what even a new paper book liked like. But _this_ looked like what might happen if you mated a proper book to a knife and raised the offspring to maturity. Or perhaps, it was a book if Master Fandarel had been the one to design it.

"An interesting observation," Robinton said.

"Sir?" Piemur asked.

"That the printing is knife-like. The edges do certainly cut one easily," and he lifted the long ring-finger of his left hand to show Piemur that the tip was swaddled in a bit of bandage.

How...

_ How did he..._

He couldn't _quite_ summon up the impudence to ask how the Harper had followed his thoughts.

Robinton went back to pushing his stylus through the wet sand.

_Is this a test?_

"Perhaps," Robinton said.

"I didn't even _say that out loud_," Piemur said before he could bite his tongue.

"No? Did Farli hear it?"

Piemur's queen firelizard appeared out of _between_ in response to her name, chittered, and came to land on Piemur's shoulder. "She wasn't here..." _Did you hear what I thought before you came to me?_ he asked her.

The queen firelizard stared at him for a long moment, trying to get her smart-but-not-quite-humanlike brain around the question, then responded with a feeling of _challenge_. "Challenge", or test. Two bronzes vying for her attention?

"I guess she did," Piemur said.

The Harper fell silent again as before, and for a while, Piemur just watched him, without really thinking anything in particular.

Well, for a while.

This was _really_ strange.

Robinton finished what he was doing, put the stylus down, closed the book around a ribbon to keep his place, then pushed his chair all the way back and extracted his long legs to rest them over the corner of his desk. His blue eyes met Piemur's. "Imagine how_ I_ feel."

"_Is_ this a test?" Piemur said, this time out loud.

"Yes," Robinton said.

_Shards._ "...am I passing it?"

Steepling his fingers, Robinton answered the question with a question. "Are you about to run out of here telling everyone? Are you terrified of me?"

The question angered Piemur. _Of course not!_ was his immediate thought. If anyone not a dragon could be safe to let into your head, surely it was the Masterharper. Although...he would probably try not to think about any of the girls in the Hall while he was around him. And perhaps try to not get up to so many tricks. Would Robinton punish him for wayward thoughts, un-acted on? Likely not; he was fair. "No, sir. I won't tell."

The Harper's body seemed to relax a bit. "I'm not sure what I've done to make all three of you so trusting that you'll accept even _this_," he murmured. "But I appreciate your loyalty, young Piemur. I believe I will need the three of you behind me very, very badly in the upcoming months."

"Because of—?" _the mindreading?_

Robinton shook his head, then ran a hand through his silvered hair. "This," and he waggled his fingers at his temples. "Is a very, _very_ minor after-effect. In the greater scheme of things, it is inconsequential."

Piemur scoffed. Actually reading minds, instead of pretending it? That wasn't minor. "It can't be. It's—"

"Oh, it _can_ and probably _will_ cause eventual trouble. But..." and Robinton swung his legs off of his desk, brought the glass cover up over his markings in the sand of the sandtable, and leaned forward. "We have bigger concerns than my mental issues." The Harper beckoned Piemur closer.

Piemur scooted his stool forward.

"None of this is to be spoken of to anyone I personally, by voice, have not pre-approved. If people other than them imply things, you are to act dumb. If they state them right out, you are to lead the conversation in another direction. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"As for the people involved...you can speak to me. You can speak to Menolly. You can speak to Sebell. You can speak to Weyrleader N'ton, Lord Groghe, Weyrleader F'lar, Weyrwoman Lessa, Weyrleader D'ram—" and Robinton went on, rattling a list that was near-exclusively Lords, Weyrleaders, and the Masters of various Crafts.

Except, it was not _every_ Lord, Weyrleader, and Master.

"No. They will be told soon, but preparations need to be made."

"Told what, sir?"

Robinton picked out an odd little glass-surfaced box from the clutter of his desk and pointed it across the room.

Piemur shifted, and saw that the Harper was pointing at the empty table. Suddenly, above it, a mote of light appeared, conjured out of nothing. It morphed into nine points, and then into a winged runner. Piemur glanced at his Master quickly. "Sir?"

"Don't look at me; watch the tri-d. Observe your own thoughts and feelings as you do so. I want a completely unbiased analysis of what your reactions are."

Obediently, and with growing wonder and excitement—and fear that he wouldn't live up to what Master Robinton expected of him—the Journeyman did so.

#

"If he learns you didn't do that to _us_, he may become a little upset," Sebell said to Robinton two hours later, after Piemur had finished his task and had been sent on his way to Silvina to become better-shod.

Robinton shrugged, and rose from his chair in order to stretch and pace around his office. He hadn't realized how tense his "test" had made _him_ until Piemur had left. "I would have put you two through the same, but the situations were different. You were _there_ when it happened, and held yourself together afterwards admirably, and Menolly has never shown herself to be a hypocrite."

Sebell blinked. "Hypocrite?"

The Harper tapped his temple. "To be afraid of me, she'd have to be afraid of herself."

The younger man sat back, thinking, then comprehension dawned. "Ah. You know, I should have guessed that. It makes a lot of sense."

"Yes," Robinton said, for Sebell had been around when Menolly had been awoken by Brekke's mental cry, shortly after having first entered the Harper Hall. "As it is, I'm relieved all three of you are behind me."

"Of course," Sebell said. "We're here to do what you need doing. No matter what it is."

"Why, thank you Sebell," Robinton said slyly.

"Sir?" Sebell said, catching his master's tone.

"For handing me that wonderful lead-in." Robinton gazed at Sebell's mock-wary face and proceeded. "Are you _really_ interested in being here to do what needs doing, no matter what it is?"

Sebell studied his Master, before a half-smile curled up one side of his mouth. "I've climbed mountains, sailed oceans both accompanied and solo, crossed deserts, swum rivers, braved hostile holds, snuck into active Weyrs, crisscrossed Southern—although not as much as Piemur—glued other people's hair to my body and painted my face and worn clothing even a watch-wher would turn its nose up at for bedding rags...and you need to _ask_ me this?"

"Oh yes," the Masterharper said, amused by Sebell's entirely truthful and non-boastful list of traveling and camouflage accomplishments. Then he let his playful manner vanish. "Have you given thought to beginning your studies for your Mastery?"

Sebell's playacting vanished as well, and he became serious. "I thought we agreed—"

"We did," Robinton said, nodding once. "That you would be my eyes and extra pair of hands until the time came that age, or illness, or whatever came, as it inevitably does, to visit me. And then you would consider your path, based on the talents you had developed, and the things you had experienced. I admit that I hadn't considered the possibility of 'men from the stars' when we last spoke of this. But I've been thinking on Lord Groghe's words—and he may be right. I am involved now in something I can't even begin to accurately predict the consequences of, other than to say the 'course of history will be forever altered' which is a phrase that belongs in a ballad, not reality. I would rather..." and here, Robinton paused for a second, to make sure his words were chosen carefully. "I would _rather_ that the Hall had a _clear_ chain of succession. If matters progress so that the Hall _is_ in sudden need of new leadership, it would be probable that a wave of potentially unchecked change is already be flowing over Pern. Certainly a lot of knowledge that would need to be digested and passed on via our Harpers would need to go out, which is not something I think an..._unexpected_ successor will be able to handle." Robinton paused again. "I like to think the pies I've stuck my fingers in over the turns have, ultimately, benefited our once-disdained Craft. I don't want all of that to be wiped away with my passing because I took those benefits for granted and didn't prepare for the worst."

"Say I began my Mastery studies today. Say I even completed them within two, two and a half turns. Would the required number of Masters even be willing to vote in a new Masterharper so young?"

Robinton smiled. "They voted _me_ in. Barely older than you. And I'm still here, all these turns later." His smile faded. "While in theory any Harper with his...or her, I suppose...Mastery could become Masterharper with the appropriate number of votes from the other Masters, in practice this has _never_ happened in the Harper Hall, and only rarely in other Crafts. It is expected that one of the Masterharper's students will follow in his footsteps. No matter how youthful. Believe me, Sebell, all the Masters in this Hall have been silently evaluating you for turns. And likely Menolly on the off-chance. I've had nobody complain to me, or try to discredit you."

"And Piemur?"

"Oh—if _Piemur_ was older, I'd spread a rumor about _that_ myself, just to watch Master Domick squirm at the thought of Piemur ranking him!" And Robinton rubbed his hands together in delight for a moment. "But no. The Masterharper is expected to have a certain breadth _and_ depth to his abilities. _You_ have this. _Menolly_ has this. Piemur...he's a strong singer—_if_ he ever decides to sing again—and he is a strong sight-reader and he's charismatic and cunning, but he hasn't developed, or shown signs of developing, the rounded depth in other musical areas he'd need to have for the other Masters to respect him like a Masterharper needs to be respected."

"He may end up being a mover and shaker anyhow," Sebell said.

"I don't doubt he will. But _not_ as Masterharper. He will become something else. As will Menolly most likely—although if _you_ do not wish to follow in my footsteps, I will approach her."

"Menolly wouldn't be happy as Masterharper," Sebell said.

"She would be capable," Robinton said. "I would trust her before many others."

Sebell was quiet.

"But no," Robinton allowed, picking up a wineglass and rolling the stem in his sensitive fingers. "She wouldn't be happy, and would not thrive. Not like I. Not like _you_ would, if I may be so bold."

"It's not bold if it's truth," Sebell said. "I...I'd wanted a few more turns before stopping my journeying. There's so much _out_ there still to learn...I could stay Journeyman another ten turns and nobody would look askance at me for not starting my Mastery."

This time, it was Robinton's turn to be silent.

"...except myself, of course." Sebell sighed. Then he said, "I'll do it."

Robinton slowly nodded. "Thank you. When will you begin?"

Sebell spread his hands wide. "Do you have time to review with me what requirements I still need to fulfill?"

"What would you do if I said no?" Robinton queried. "You know, after I _just_ told you someone might try to put a sword through me and we might need a replacement quickly?" His mouth stretched wide in a toothy, mischievous grin.

Sebell rolled his eyes to the heavens.

Masterharper Robinton laughed, then carefully lifted the glass top to the other side of his sandtable and sprayed the top with mist so they could begin their work.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"Piemur! Where have you _been_?" a laughing voice Piemur couldn't immediately identify said.

Piemur turned, and saw a stranger. Well, not a _stranger, _but it was a shock to see a friend from his apprentice days looking so...different. _Sounding_ so different. Ranly had, like Piemur, done some growing over the past few turns, and, also like Piemur, his voice had dropped. Although it still seemed a little frayed, weedy, and unsettled, to Piemur's critical ear.

"Oh, I've been around," Piemur said, casually waving the comment away. "You headed towards the grub?" and he hiked a thumb in the direction of the dining room. That's where _he_ was headed, like any sensible person.

Ranly refused to be distracted. "Around? _Around?_ They had you up in the drumheights with you acting all weird after your voice cracked during Domick's rehearsal, then you just up and vanished. For _t__urns_. We thought you were dead for a while-none of the Journeymen knew where you were, none of the Masters cared, and-" Ranly's voice had taken a familiar wheedling tone.

Some things never changed.

And of course, some things changed a _lot_. The Masterharper's secret, the tri-d about men from the stars that Robinton had had him watch...all of this whirled around in Piemur's head. It was _exactly_ the sort of thing Ranly wanted to hear. Of course, Piemur couldn't say a word. Not yet at least.

Could he say he'd been at Southern? Not just this morning, he'd wondered what he could say about that, and what he _couldn't_, and it had been sort of hush-hush as far as he'd known. "Where did all of you _think_ I was?" Piemur asked Ranly, not without a good amount of curiosity. How much truth did the gossip contain this time around?

Someone cleared his throat before Ranly could answer. "I received a good report from Toric on your Harpering skills, Journeyman," a familiar warm baritone said behind them.

"Masterharper!" Ranly said whirling. His eyes went wide, more at this news than at being startled by the Craftmaster.

"Sir?" Piemur queried, also turning and cocking his head.

"And Lord Jaxom's new lady also had a good word for you," Robinton said. He stepped between them, and put his hands on their backs, gently guiding them towards the dining room in front of him. Then he said to Ranly as they walked, "My Journeyman Piemur here was assessing the growth of Southern Hold for me. It would be unfortunate if the minor inconvenience of a little ocean and an...unusual...Weyr caused the adventurous men and women under Holder Toric's oversight to forget their ballads and their duties. Don't you think, Ranly?"

Ranly opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally said, "Of course, Master Robinton." He looked a bit in shock.

Piemur struggled not to grin. Robinton had just planted their story in exactly the right person to make it burrow into the Hall's collective unconsciousness like unflamed thread. Not only would Ranly spread it around because of the novelty, but Robinton had also made Piemur's old friend feel like he'd been taken into confidence, and Ranly would make sure _everyone_ knew about that.

Suddenly Robinton removed his friendly guiding touch, abruptly enough that Piemur glanced up at him again. The amused but earnest look on the Harper's face had shifted to something with a touch of cynicism, although that, too, vanished as quickly as it registered to Piemur's mind and Robinton ended the conversation by lengthening his stride and leaving them behind.

"...that was strange," Ranly said, watching the most respected Harper in the Hall go. "You're _his_ student now? Like Menolly and Sebell?"

"...Yeah, I'm his juniormost Journeyman," Piemur said, unsettled himself. It seemed likely that Robinton had heard his-and maybe Ranly's-thoughts, and that's why he'd left so quickly. He actually felt a tinge of sadness for his Master, which was such an unusual feeling that it completely negated any urge to boast to Ranly about his promotion. His promotion was old news anyhow, it had happened turns ago even if Ranly was just learning of it.

"How and when did _that_ happen?"

"You'd have to ask the Masterharper about that next time he pauses to chat with us."

"You think he'd answer?"

Piemur chuckled. "No."

"Shards." Ranly shook his head. "You're going to be as secretive as Menolly and Sebell are. Is there _anything_ interesting that you _can_ tell me?"

"Well..." Piemur thought about it. "I can tell you about the time I was stalked by a gigantic spotted feline..."

#

_Perhaps you should not play those games with Ramoth's rider,_ Canth's concerned voice said in Brekke's head.

Brekke moved the blanket away from one eye enough to look at the huge brown stretched out on the stone couch of the weyr she shared with F'nor. It brought an ache to her heart, to hear concern in a dragon's voice, even if it was unaccompanied by the warm shafts of love her golden queen Wirinth had shared with her. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, curiously. She spoke to Canth more than most dragons in Benden Weyr, and she could overhear the conversations of most dragons and riders, but even so it was relatively rare one would express individual concern towards her directly, instead of through the filter of their own riders.

_F'nor will be upset. He will think she is using you._

Ah. Canth wanted to avert F'nor's distress. How dragonish, if unusually foresightful.

_I do like you,_ Canth said hesitantly, as if not sure if it would help. His eyes started to shade to a yellow-green of rising distress.

Like, not love. Well, she'd had her chance to Impress again anyhow, at the same Hatching that Lord Jaxom had impressed white Ruth at. And she had seen why it would have been wrong to Impress a new queen. Wirinth had not deserved to be replaced, and the new queen had not deserved to be the only dragon with a rider that had not been "hers" first.

So why was she hiding under the furs like this again, feeling as if she wanted to curl up and sob her heart out? Why had the mental paths, the healthy mental routes of thought that had allowed her to function again no longer there as clearly?

Oh, Lessa's was a hard mind to touch. Not only was it on a different...different..."pitch", to use a Harper term...but Lessa's expression of empathy was so...muted. She _had_ it, Brekke had _sensed_ that Lessa could pick up people's emotions like she did thoughts, but things that made Brekke's blood freeze or heat in sympathy didn't even register in Lessa's thoughts most of the time beyond a dispassionate notation, and when emotions like that _did_ register, she was impatient with people's weaknesses. It didn't squeeze her gut, cause her heartstrings to twinge in sympathy...not in the way such things hit _Brekke_.

It was as if parts of Lessa's mind were scarred over by...by the pain the invader Fax had brought upon her and her family. Lessa was only soft in thought and feeling towards Ramoth, and F'lar. And, sometimes, the Harper.

_We all like the Harper?_ Canth offered tentatively.

And yet...and yet...in the training games Lessa had devised as they'd gone along, games with playing cards and ballad scores nicked from the Weyrsinger's office, Brekke had been brought into close contact with the Weyrwoman's thoughts, _feeling_ she was there, and alive, and a person with her own loves and losses, her own sense of humor and own sense of honor. To be _so close_ to another person in thought was somehow tantalizing, even if Lessa herself was...incredibly strong of mind, and also incredibly flawed.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was the source of Brekke's newfound heartache. In encountering Lessa's flaws, perhaps _she_ was now more aware of her own broken spots, giving them the edges to cut her anew.

Maybe that was why the ache, in the pit of her stomach, in her heart, was back. Maybe that's why she could not breathe.

_I have asked F'nor to come,_ Canth said.

"No!" she cried, sitting up and flinging the furs off. Her firelizards, which had been curled up on top of her, tumbled across the bed, making surprised sounds. "I'm getting up! I'm fine!"

_You are not fine. You have not been fine since you returned._

"It doesn't matter! We need to do this! _I_ need to do this! For Pern!"

And F'nor was there, entering their quarters at a quick pace. "That sounds like something Lessa would say," he said, pulling her into his arms.

Brekke didn't want comfort, and pushed herself away. "Just because she said it doesn't make it wrong!"

Yet...what if...

...What if Lessa had inadvertently _changed_ her mind? Like they'd been afraid that the FT&T had done to Master Robinton?

She shielded. Like Lessa had shown her how. Just in case F'nor could hear her, just in case Canth was listening to her, just in case _Lessa_ was still listening to her. She didn't need it to be perfect...she just needed to make sure every little thought wasn't sloshing out.

And, this time, it worked. This time, the tiny nagging fear that her mind was not her own over-rode the fear that she would miss something _important_ if she closed her mind, and there was silence.

She froze.

"Brekke?" F'nor asked, and his voice seemed loud in the silence.

Yet, there were other noises. The brush of his clothing against hers. The buzz of insects outside. So the peculiar quiet she heard was not one of sounds.

It was one of minds. She was alone in her head. Not in the way she had felt when Wirinth had died-although that condition still persisted-but there were no dragons talking in the distance, no sense of people moving through the Weyr in their daily business.

There was just her, in her weyr, and her mate F'nor, and Canth watching them with rapidly whirling eyes, and her firelizards. They were there, to eyes and ears and smell. But it was if the rest of life outside the range of her immediate senses had ceased to exist.

She turned around slowly, listening, looking. She wasn't sure if she liked this or hated it. Could she have come back into her mind at all turns ago if she hadn't sensed poor Mirrim fretting herself sick? If F'nor's heartbreak hadn't been a constant keening mourning beneath her skin?

What might happen to her hold on life if she could make her world this silent and detached at will?

"You-_we_-have done enough for Pern," F'nor said. There was a hint of anger in his tone. "You don't have to do everything she says because she says it. Brekke. Brekke? Canth says he cannot hear you-"

"I'm here," she said. "I shielded. Made a wall around my mind, so nobody else can hear my thoughts. " She stepped closer and looked up at him. "To see if she had a hold on me. But it still makes _sense_, even shielded. We _have_ to learn this. We can't let this FT&T have the advantage. You should take lessons from your brother."

F'nor's brow furrowed. "Lessons in what?"

"In making things move without touching them."

"I-what?"

"Go talk to F'lar," she urged. "_We_ need to learn these things. The Weyr. Master Robinton, he's handling the talking part of it. He's good at persuasion, he's good at negotiation. He and his Harpers. But _we_ have to make sure we can protect ourselves if diplomacy fails. F'nor...on all of Pern, only Lessa and I can hear all dragons. What if that's _the_ sign of strong 'Talent'? What if we're the only two? That's two against the _four_ we have met in the FT&T, and the odds of them having more and more is just so _high_."

The brownrider was quiet for a moment. "Lessa, Ramoth...and Canth, Mnementh...and all the other dragons in all the Weyrs of Pern. That's a lot more than four!" His brow creased again. "And Canth says Menolly." He turned to his brown dragon. "Menolly's not a dragonrider."

Canth sighed, his big shoulders heaving.

"Oh."

It was an odd experience, only "hearing" one half of the conversation. And a little eerie, Brekke noted. No wonder people acted as they did around dragonriders. "Oh?" she asked as a prompt to clarify.

"Weyrleader N'ton invited her to stand for the queen egg at their next Hatching."

"Menolly can't hear all dragons," she said. "Mirrim would have told me. They're good friends."

"Perhaps not. But she heard _you_ when..."

...when F'nor had done that _stupid_ stunt of attempting to go _between_ to the Red Star. "She has a lot of firelizards, and hers had met ours," she said.

F'nor shrugged, then pulled her close again, not quite in apology, but to comfort her.

"I'll be _fine_," Brekke said, although she did not fight. "I just-it's so _strange_, being close to another _human's_ mind." She swallowed against the lump that still remained in her throat. "And Lessa has been through _so much_...she's very different from _us_..."

There was a change in the way F'nor held her.

Brekke glanced up, met his eyes for an instant, and then quickly looked away, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. She didn't know if she...what might she find out, if she touched _F'nor's_ mind?

What might she _hurt_ if she touched F'nor's mind? Lessa had warned her about being too loud, how poor Robinton's meager telepathic abilities hadn't been able to protect him when she'd gotten angry on his behalf.

She didn't try to touch F'nor's mind, did not try to _know_ him in thought as well as she did in body. Not yet. "Let me...figure myself out. Canth can stay here and watch if he wants to."

"He can't hear you anymore," F'nor said, the way he held her subtlety changing again as it became clear her mood wasn't in that direction.

"He has eyes," she said, a little curtly. "Let me practice what I need to practice. And you should go talk to F'lar."

He sighed, and was quiet for so long that she thought he'd refuse. But instead, he made an offer. "I will go talk to F'lar if you will make sure to talk to me after each of these...training sessions...with Lessa," he said. It was clear he was still worried.

She turned in his arms and held him tight. "I promise."

He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her.

#

_Afra,_ Brian Ackerman said.

_Yes?_ Afra Lyon answered, as he continued to attach cargo pods to the great liner the Rowan would be 'porting to Procyon in approximately seventeen minutes.

_There's a G-man here to see you._

_G-man?_ Afra asked, reaching for Gollee. But a feather-touch of Gollee's public mind showed Afra that the other Talent was as busy at _his_ job as Afra was at his.

_Not _our_ G-man. Someone else's. Diplo. Do we have some big honcho coming through en route to Betelgeuse or something that wants to take a tour of this barren rock?_ There was a sense of mounting irritation from the Stationmaster; while Callisto Tower was nothing short of spotless no matter when anyone visited, there were still _things_ that needed to be done when unusual big-name visitors arrived.

_Ah. No. I'm unaware of anything like that. Show him to the visitor's lounge; I will be there momentarily._

_Is this _personal_?_ Brian asked in surprise, picking something up.

Afra shielded more firmly. _It's complicated. And classified._

_Shit._ And Brian withdrew, but Afra got brief flashes of images and and a general sense of verbality without quite catching any backfired words that let him know that Brian was speaking with the government man.

_Rowan?_ Afra said, securing the last few pods to the liner.

_I heard,_ and the Rowan's touch was a combination of amusement, irritation, and resignation. _Go attend to it. I can manage this without you._

A few minutes later, Afra discreetly teleported to just outside the lounge, out of sight, then opened the door and walked in.

"No need to teleport," a short, stocky man said with a lopsided grin. "I'm nobody important. Yet." And he rose from the couch he'd been on and bowed deeply to Afra, the gesture both measured and fluid in a way that told Afra the man was used to bowing like a Capellan.

Although, as his skin didn't have the greenish tint that came from growing up on the planet, Afra doubted the man _was_ Capellan. Or at least not from birth. Of course, there were some cultures on Earth that also bowed, and upon studying the man's tilted, single-lidded eyes and pale brown skin, Afra decided it was likely the man was from one of them. Perhaps he was from Tokyo, like the old spacer Afra had known as a child. Afra bowed back. "May I ask your name?"

"Of course. My name is Ninjou Gaikou-"

-as the man spoke, Afra caught flashes of emotions, flowing and ebbing...compassion, and carefulness. Yet, they didn't seem to match the man's actual _feelings_-

_Brian, you didn't tell me he's an empath,_ Afra said.

_He's FT&T?_

"-and I was hoping you'd do me the great honor of speaking-"

_No,_ Afra said. The man's private mind was shielded, but, somehow, above that, was a fog. Initially, it seemed the disordered fog of most non-telepaths, but the flickering of emotions that were precise...and manufactured...gave the man's nature away. To Afra at least.

_What a peculiar mind,_ the Rowan murmured to Afra, listening in, and catching what he did as quickly as he did-if not quicker. _Then again, most of the empaths I meet that lack telepathic ability are medics, not diplomats._

_Or they're crowd-control,_ Afra mused back.

_That's still FT&T,_ she said. _This man is...not._

"Have I made a stir?" Ninjou Gaikou asked, tilting his head to the side. "I sense..." and his brow furrowed.

_Pft. Did he really say "sense"?_ Rowan asked, her mood turning from interested to cynical. Amateurs and actors put her off.

Afra gently nudged Rowan away. Of course, she was Prime so she didn't have to go, but she accepted his redirection and vanished from his mind. She had more important things to attend to anyway. "It's not often we get non-FT&T Talents visiting us. The crew is a bit curious. No offense meant."

"None taken. It's not often the FT&T is...involved in what it is involved in. Although they're not aware of that yet, I suppose. We probably won't make a general announcement until we can get a party on Pernese soil, and as I understand it, you, along with Earth Prime and Gollee Gren, are coordinating that with your contact, the Masterharper Robinton."

Afra studied Ninjou Gaikou, unsure if the man was fishing for information.

The other man gazed back, a veneer of pleasant emotion over his mind, matching the polite smile on his face. Then he said, "Ah!" and reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic sheet, over which the seal of the Nine Star League's Diplomatic arm played in smooth animation. This he handed to Afra. "I'm here primarily to give you this. You've been formally approved for contact with the Pernese, as a person in your own right and not just as an exchangeable accessory of the FT&T under the direction of Earth Prime," he said. "Not that your Earth Prime gave us much of a choice. Does that make him clever, or just the head of a star-spanning monopoly?"

"Nothing's stopping a counter-company from setting up shop. If they can find the Primes," Afra said mildly.

"Do you think they could?" Ninjou Gaikou asked, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. "The legislation of Talent is pretty ferocious for newcomers. Few start-up ventures could afford to both pay Primes the salaries needed to attract and keep them, and figure out how to implement security measures and enforcement. This isn't the early days of the Parapsychic Centers where any charismatic-or clairvoyant-man or woman could lead a fiefdom of Talents, and humanity only had one planet to its name."

"I've never investigated the legislation surrounding the creation of a new Talent-based corporation," Afra said, evading the prying questions by way of the honest truth. Although some of Reidinger's shenanigans pre-Jeff when he'd been grooming the Rowan to take over as Earth Prime had been a little odd, and the boredom of little-changing routine was chafing, Afra had mostly been content with the way the FT&T handled itself. Certainly not of a mind to start a mutiny. Or go freelance.

However...how had a man that asked questions as bluntly as this end up in the Diplomatic Corps? Did he rely so heavily on Talent for his job that when a stronger Talent, like Afra, shielded his emotions away he became rudderless, prying just to see what provoked a reaction? Or did he do "crowd control", leaning on his subjects so that they remained in a neutral state so that their emotions did not interfere with their replies no matter how oddly he conducted his questioning? That was a very gray area..."Thank you for coming all this way to deliver this," Afra said, tapping the sheet he'd been given. The logo changed to a menu under the press of his fingertips, and hopefully glimmered.

"Oh, no, no, no...thank _you_ for bringing me. You _were_ the one that brought in _The Laundry_?"

_The Laundry_ was a minor transport liner that was well within Afra's ability to lift from Earth to Callisto solo, although when it went out of Sol's system in a few hours, he would mind-merge with the Rowan and she would handle _that_ push. "Yes," Afra said. "I picked up _The Laundry_," he added dutifuly. Similar jokes had been going through the Tower all morning once people saw the day's manifests.

"Well, I greatly appreciate it. My experience going through the ringer has never been nicer."

Perhaps Ninjou Gaikou wasn't the only one at a loss when Talent became unreliable; Afra wasn't certain he quite understood this man, and didn't trust the impressions he got from the empath's public mind. "Will I be seeing you again once the talks progress more?"

The diplomat looked startled. "Me?" Then he chuckled. "This is a project men and women _far_ more senior than I are salivating over!"

Afra swept his eyes over the man; he looked little younger than Afra himself. Then again, rank in the FT&T was rarely based on seniority; Afra had been 2IC of Callisto since he was barely out of his schooling. "Good luck, anyhow."

"I'd appreciate the sentiment more if you were a pre-cog. But thank you."

"Let me escort you back to the main lounge. _The Laundry_ isn't being 'ported to Altair for a few more hours."

"I'd appreciate that, Mr. Lyon."

#

"How's Aloth?" D'red asked, dragging a stool over to the gaming table with a booted foot before settling two bowls of spiced rivergrains on the red velvet pile of the table surface.

"What?" C'cel said, stopping his pacing. "What do you mean?"

_I'm fine,_ Aloth said.

"She's fine," he relayed. It came out terser than he'd wanted, and he scowled in irritation, which didn't seem to put D'red off at all.

"You're wearing a rut into the floor," D'red said, jerking a thumb at C'cel's legs, before digging into his meal. "And the floor's stone!" he added through a mouthful of food.

The greenrider studied the other man for a second. "She's not proddy. So if you're trying to...to...woo me with this lovely meal of pot-scrapings..." C'cel gestured at the second bowl of food in irritation. "You can stop."

"You're _a thin man getting thinner, and he don't look like a winner. Give a down-drug man a hand._ If you'll excuse me for quoting Harper Menolly's newest song."

C'cel stopped his pacing, and tilted his head, processing the words. "What stupid sod left her high and dry? Folks who tend that way can't do much better than Menolly, if you don't mind the Crafter mindset...work, work work..."

"It _is_ a little dour for her..." D'red agreed. "But I like the tune well enough. It's not one of Master Domick's, but it'll do."

"Master who?" C'cel said, then sat on the other stool and dug into his recently disdained meal.

"Master Domick."

"Master _who_?" C'cel repeated, knowing it'd get the bluerider irritated.

D'red sighed. "He's the _Master Composer_. Of the Harper Hall. Most of the elaborate, formal music you hear at Gathers is from him."

C'cel shrugged. "And why should I pay attention to the internal postings at the Harper Hall and songs I can't hope to ever sing?"

"You don't like to unwind after a long day of fighting thread with _something_ that makes you feel a little less like an illiterate brute?"

"Maybe if we were fighting thread I would."

D'red frowned, and tilted his head to the side, obviously speaking to his blue Nariath.

C'cel quickly threw out a hand to seize the other man's shoulder. "Don't tell Nariath!"

D'red gave C'cel a peculiar look; a dragonrider asking another dragonrider _not_ to speak to his dragon was patiently absurd. "We're a little too late for th-"

_The weyrleader comes,_ Aloth told C'cel, her soft voice apologetic in his mind.

_Blabbermouth,_ C'cel thought. Not of Aloth, but of D'red's Nariath. Nariath was extremely pushy for a blue, and D'red was often left cleaning up his blue dragon's messes.

_He has interesting thoughts,_ Aloth said.

_Then why didn't he catch you last time?_

_...he was too busy showing off his moves,_ she said laughingly. _He thinks he can fly like Ruth!_

Now _there_ was a peculiar thought...what if Ruth ever joined a flight? Would Lord Jaxom come join the other riders, like a weyrbred man, or would he find a stand-in to ease the drive somewhere privately in Ruatha Hold?

_Are _you_ proddy, rider?_ Aloth asked, teasing. When she wasn't frightened, she enjoyed baiting him. Then her tone changed again, before he could react. _The Weyrwoman comes..._

"_Both_ of them?" he asked in dismay.

_There is only one Weyrwoman..._Aloth said, literal-minded as dragons often defaulted to when not purposely trying to tease.

C'cel's mind flicked back to the thing that had grounded him in the first place...that _sense_ of a person hidding within the thread. And the shame after relaying his message to F'lar and Lessa, the half-fear, half paranoid certainty he wouldn't be believed...

_You shouldn't be shamed,_ a female voice said-but not the one he was used to.

D'red, too, looked surprised. "Was that Aloth?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.

It was not Aloth. "No-"

_Of course not,_ the voice said, surprised that they couldn't tell the difference. _I'm Lessa._

Lessa? Not Ramoth? He was hearing the Weyrwoman _herself_ in his head? He shot D'red a look, and D'red was looking much less cheerful now, realizing his dragon may have set off something bigger than expected.

And then the queenrider was there, tiny but self-assured.

Both riders jumped to their feet, D'red almost toppling his bowl of rivergrains to the ground in his haste. C'cel caught it for him and set it on the table further away from the edge.

Lessa saw this and frowned. "That is a gaming table, riders, not an eating table."

Both bowls left the table, along with the silverware and mugs of klah, almost as quickly as if they'd been taken _between_.

"It is my deepest hope that that similie might became reality," Lessa said, pulling a deck of cards out of her pocket.

C'cel's eyes flicked over to D'red, who moved his broad shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. "Ah, is there something you want us to do, Weyrwoman?" he asked awkwardly.

At that moment, F'lar also entered the room, a box of dice rattling in one of his hands. He looked almost as devilish as the Weyrwoman-a decidedly unusual state for a man usually more given to somber brooding. "Yes," he said for Lessa. "We'd like you to game with us. A few card tricks, some rolls of the dice-neither of you have any moral stance against gambling, do you?"

"No sir," both men assured him.

"Then sit down," Lessa said. When they did so, she took a seat across from them. F'lar sat beside her.

_Aloth, what is going on?_

_I don't know_, she said.

C'cel felt worry coil through his gut. He was a man of routine, more or less, and this...was not. He couldn't even figure out how Nariath's nosiness had led them to _this_.

Lessa quickly shuffled the deck she had, the high-quality paintings of dragons, lords, and crafters flashing between her fingers. F'lar passed them each a pair of dice.

"What game are we playing?" D'red had the courage-or perhaps foolishness-to ask.

"It's called 'What Happens When Thread Has People In It'," Lessa said.

"I'm afraid I don't know that game," D'red said, gamely.

C'cel wished the bluerider would shut his bloody mouth.

Lessa caught his eyes with her clear blue ones. "Oh, I'm sure C'cel and Aloth will teach you how to play," she said with a grin.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Breakfast sat cold and lumpen on Lord Meron's tongue as he stared at the rolled missive placed on his bed tray by one of Nabol Hold's drudges. "What's this?" Meron demanded, and felt a twinge of satisfaction that his voice was more like its old self again—no longer as quavering, no longer as peevish as a man twice his Turns. But his satisfaction waned as he noticed the peculiar twist of the drudge's nostrils that betrayed the man could smell something still, despite the wide-open windows and incense sticks on the hearth. Meron's satisfaction vanished. "I suppose that's a foolish question. You _don't_ know, of course. You can't read," he said, fishing. And there it was, a different twitch on the drudge's face. The man, thanks to the unfathomable actions of the Harpers, probably _could_ understand basic lettering. So Meron added a warning. "Of course, if you _did_ read well enough to know what's on this hide..."

"Didn't read nuffin', my lord. Just brought it to you quick, like told to."

"Of course. Get out," he muttered, his lip curling.

The drudge scuttled away, head bowed, shoulders taut.

Why was it that people in this Hold insisted on displaying petty disobedience, when Meron would have truly respected a man with the bronze to take real actions instead of stewing silently? It was bloody difficult, sharding _exhausting_ and demeaning to constantly rotate staff in a bitter, fruitless chase to find a man who could be his _competent _right hand while he was abed with this...

...this...

It didn't matter. He _was_ on the mend. Despite...despite...

He could feel his head start to swim in rage at the thought of his Turns-long illness, which also made him queasy, so he set his spoon back into his bowl and grabbed the wax-sealed hide that had been brought to him. It couldn't be worse than contemplating his condition, could it? Or dwelling on Kylara's fate, or the humiliation of finding some nobody rogue drudge had made off with _his_ queen firelizard egg...and he was too ill to find the culprit!

No, there he went, back into that anger again. He pushed it away, and rolled the scroll around in his fingers until he could discern the sigil stamped into the gray wax. Fort Hold. And not just any Fort Hold stamp, but Lord Groghe's.

Lord Meron wasn't exactly on casual speaking terms with the grouchy, table-thumping gray-haired lord of Pern's oldest Hold, but he wasn't exactly on non-speaking terms with him either. Fort did, after all, still boast a better-trained array of soldiers than any other Hold. Fax himself had been reluctant to take Fort on in direct OR indirect context due to that. Lord Meron knew in his gut that if _he_ couldn't find a half-decent Steward to handle things that _didn't_ require the sharp end of a sword, his manpower in other areas wouldn't be much better.

_Blast_ this bloody Turns-long malaise!

In any case, goading Groghe to the point that the man turned his back on him was a dangerous thing to do. Groghe was no wet-behind-the-ears Lordling. So they still communicated. Occasionally.

Actually, Groghe mostly just passed dry but important news to Meron, as if Meron had absolutely _no_ way to know of the doings outside his own Hold these days, as if Groghe was somehow better than the rest of the Lords because Fort was oldest. It was insulting.

And this was probably just another one of those.

Meron almost tossed the hide into the hearth to smolder with the incense. Then, thinking of the odor of burnt hide, he decided not to, and cracked the wax seal opened and began to read whatever it was that Groghe had sent.

One-third way through, Meron sent his breakfast tray—breakfast still on it—flying across the room with a mighty shove.

It actually hit the wall, this time.

A pair of drudges bounded in, drawn by the noise. Meron ignored them and shoved the heavy furs off of his legs and began to rise.

"Oh no, Lord, you're not-"

"Go clean the far wall. And while you're at it, note that you're actually cleaning the _wall_, and not the _floor_. I've been abed longer than I've needed to be. You," he said to the drudge who hadn't had the audacity to speak. "Get me some clothing. I need to be dressed properly."

It had indeed been one of Lord Groghe's brusque communiqués. Only _this_ time Meron had not known an inkling of its content, nor had he been included in any conversation that had caused Groghe—and a half-dozen other ranking signatures, Hold, Craft, and Weyr alike-to call a special Conclave.

Meron had been _excluded_ from that, only to be summoned like a naughty Apprentice when others felt it time to announce something important to him. Something important enough to draw a full, unscheduled Conclave mid-Turn.

How had he _not_ known? The signs had been there—Robinton abruptly changing Harpers at Nabol, removing the tired, canny dark-skinned one who was frank to Meron that he was a spy and replacing him with a quivering just-walked neophyte Journeyman whose demeanor just begged for a lashing. As if Meron was no longer a concern for the Harper Hall, no longer a man to keep an eye on. And there had been an unusual amount of non-High Reaches dragons in the skies outside his window.

Rage bubbled again in Meron as he remembered being cornered in his own chambers, in excruciating pain while the manipulative old watch-wher of a Harper somehow persuaded the _Master Healer Oldive himself _to break his oath to do no harm, leaving Meron to writhe in agony while Robinton pretended it was an honorable thing to make a man—a Lord! Technically his equal but in reality his _better_-name his own heir while in such a wretched condition. Meron had seen the cold certainty of his own death in the Harper's eyes. On one hand, Meron was half-convinced that's _why_ he still lived, just to prove Robinton wrong...but on the other...how _dare_ he? Cowardly, mewling whispering-in-ears Robinton, acting like he had _half_ the balls that Fax had had...

And Benden! They had somehow been involved too, he just _knew_ it. They were involved in this calling of the Conclave _now—_there was F'lar's name, of all the Weyrleaders who could have signed it. Nabol wasn't even under their protection of Benden Weyr, yet they meddled in things outside their area as if solving the riddle of where the Weyrs went meant they were Lord and Lady of the entire planet.

Meron peered at the names on the bottom of the hide again. Groghe, F'lar, Fandarel, Robinton. Oh yes, he knew that little group...oh, and how sweet, little Jaxom had his name there too!

The boy shamed his father, first Impressing a sickly little size-crippled dragon, and now dancing to the tune of the Harper and his cronies! He should have spent time in Nabol Hold, learning something of the events that had given him his Ruatha Hold in the first place.

Now, disgusted, Meron _did_ throw the hide into the fire, where it burned odiously, and stalked into his bathing room.

The stone tub was dry. "Do I have to do everything myself!" he snapped at the drudge who now had his arms loaded down with expensive furs and brightly-dyed textiles. "I can't put those on without bathing! What do you think I am, some holdless lout that doesn't know how to treat fine fabric?"

Despite the drudge's stone-still face, Meron could swear that's exactly what the ungrateful whelp thought. Meron seethed. But he did not strike the drudge; he dared not over-exert himself, not now. "Put it on the bed. Then leave."

The clothing was put down. Then the drudge returned and made a movement towards the spigot to his bath.

"OUT!"

Like the first one not ten minutes ago, this drudge too knew how to scurry.

Meron turned his back on the one still cleaning the wall of his bedchamber and leaned to release the spigot and draw his own bloody bath water.

He noted as he leaned that his lungs were pain-free, for once.

Good. _Good._

#

Piemur sat on a low wall surrounding one of the cotholds nestled up to Fort Hold like fosterlings to their foster-mother, and picked at a warm bubbly pie. He hadn't had one of these in _forever_. Today's was bought by a two-mark given to him by the Harper. Master Robinton had been in a frenzy, and all of them had missed breakfast-not because it wasn't there, but because they were too busy-so he'd pressed marks into their hands as apology, and told them to grab something as they passed through the gather.

"Oh _shards!" _Piemur said in dismay, spotting a certain Lord sliding down the side of a dragon. He stopped picking at the pie.

"What?" Menolly said from beside him. "Did you rip your nice new—oh."

Lord Meron of Nabol gave the two Harpers a disgusted look as he passed, although he couldn't have been close enough to hear, and strode into Fort Hold with the movements of a healthy man, instead of a man who had been more or less on his deathbed for the past few Turns. It was a distinct, and unsettling, change.

Once he was out of earshot again, Piemur continued to curse. "Blast. _Shards._ Oh bloody-"

"Calm down, he didn't recognize you."

"I have Farli on my shoulder!" he hissed at her.

Farli chirped, and regarded Piemur with concern.

"And she's _yours_ now," Menolly said. "Besides, everyone knows I give Beauty's clutches out," and she reached a long finger around to scratch Beauty's head knobs. Beauty glowed. "That's what everyone assumes already."

"But what if he-"

"He _doesn't_," Menolly said, and fixed Piemur with a _look, _as if she knew things he didn't.

Right. Menolly, like the Harper, could hear thoughts now. So that was actually sort of true—she _did_ know things. Piemur wasn't quite sure yet what he thought of that. The Harper having such abilities was...well, almost expected. But in Menolly, who'd long since adopted him as her little brother...

...it was terribly annoying.

Menolly made an impatient sound. "Do you have to go on and on about it?"

"Well if you would just _stop listening-_"

"...if we can convince Master Raven and Master Robinton to let that girl I told you about, Damia, teach me, then I promise I'll stop. Because I'll _know how to, then_."

"If this Damia person can teach you that, I'll give her a big sloppy kiss," Piemur promised.

Menolly sighed. "Piemur, she's a Prime. If you do that, it'll no longer be _me_ hearing you, it'll be _her_."

"Yeah, but she won't think of me as her _little brother..._"

Menolly whacked him on the shoulder.

"See?!"

#

Lessa frowned at the group of select Benden dragonriders amassed in a private room just off of the larger room the Conclave was gathering in. C'cel looked as green as his dragon. D'red was nervously tapping a rapid and complicated beat on his thigh that was probably courtesy of the few years of Harper training he'd had prior to Impression. Brekke had a tight look about her almond-shaped eyes that belied stress-that she was showing it all meant she was probably ready to collapse. F'nor sat quietly, but his eyes were locked on his mate, as if her stress was his own. And F'lar...

F'lar paced. Back and forth, back and forth. A faint odor of molten metal lingered around him-not uncommon these days, as he'd taken to practicing his skills with metal in any spare second he had. Given the importance of all of _this_, that meant he practiced in any time not spent fighting thread, tending to Mnementh, or leading the Weyr.

Not that she did differently, with her own skills.

Still. "You do realize, we're not attending a funeral today," Lessa pointed out to all of them. "We are announcing we are not alone in the universe. A third of them out there already know about this."

_My shields are not going to hold,_ Brekke silently fretted at Lessa.

_Of course they will,_ Lessa said. _They held before Ramoth and I, on multiple occasions. They will hold before those not as strong as we._

_This is different-can't you hear _them? _Out there? They already gripe and moan!_

Lessa could, but didn't quite understand why Brekke was so sensitized to it. They had created and done experiments, and it had turned out that Lessa could hear and feel anything Brekke could-but it often bothered Brekke much more. Sometimes, Lessa worried a little about the other woman's sanity...for the biggest difference between them was that Brekke was no longer a dragonrider. Had it left a hole in Brekke's mind? A weakness in the weft of thought?

Yet, Lessa _knew_ Brekke was stronger than she seemed. She had lost her dragon and lived...and not only _lived_, contributed much to the Weyr. And she'd progressed fastest other than Lessa herself in this, even if she would not-could not?-admit it.

All of them in this room had been training together for more than a month, now. They'd all discovered hidden...Talents. C'cel had a sensitivity to match Lessa's and Brekke's, except with a much shorter range. It was why he had seemed permanently agitated on some days, vibrating as he was to the emotions of people in his vicinity, until he'd finally picked up what Lessa had been trying to show him...shields. It also made Lessa...wonder...if something like this in other greenriders was why they made such good Search riders.

D'red had short-range telepathy, although he still had to go through Nariath to contact them once they had moved out of his range. Unlike Brekke and Lessa, he did not hear all dragons or humans...but he heard _them_ with no effort when addressed, and could address them back with thought alone. He also had what Lessa was calling a "quick mind"; in weyrling games constructed to improve a dragon and rider's _between_ response times, D'red and Nariath constantly responded just a bit faster to the cues than anyone else, even when Lessa shielded her mind and moved out of his telepathic range. Looking through their records on him-and calling in records from his previous Weyr, Ista-he and Nariath had several remarks from Wingleaders on their ability to pop _between_ quickly and accurately. He'd never been scored, nor his dragon-not even once.

And F'nor...well, like D'red he could "hear" them, and "speak" to them on his own. His range was longer than D'red's, but not as long as Lessa's. There also seemed something else to him, although they had not figured that out yet. F'lar had remarked that F'nor was his reservoir of backup power, giving his brother a friendly jostle, but Lessa had wondered if that might possibly be the truth.

And all of this came from just a small handful of riders! What would they discover as they identified and brought others into their experimental group?

They would get through today. Oh, the Conclave would startle, its thoughts scattering in a million directions like a school of fish, or tangle together like clumps of thread, but it wasn't like they hadn't faced that down before.

"Plus," F'lar said, following her thoughts. "We have Robinton. And the tri-d he got from Earth Prime."

They did. "And the books," she murmured.

"And the books," F'lar agreed. And he glanced down at her, amber eyes thoughtful. _We should have invited the Harper to our...sessions._

Lessa's brows drew together. She had wanted to. And yet...it had somehow seemed wrong, to bring a non-rider into their group. She couldn't explain it. _We don't want all the eggs in one basket,_ she repeated again. He had no dragon to protect him. That's how she explained the uneasy feeling in her gut. Although, it also struck her, after having explored with Benden riders, that Robinton could not project his thoughts. Even C'cel could, if not as clearly as the others. Robinton could not.

Why make him even more of a target than he already was, when it was clear he was not as strong as they? And when he had but naught but a firelizard at his back?

Trying to convince herself that they were protecting him, instead of leaving him vulnerable, Lessa glanced over the assembled Benden riders again. "In a few minutes, we, with the assistance of Master Robinton, are going to announce most likely the biggest event that has happened to Pern since the Ninth Pass began..."

#

Lord Meron noticed the sideways glances, as he entered the great room of the Conclave. He gave those who met his eyes a tight smile, ignored the rest, and made a beeline for the first person there who might have some idea of what was going on, and an urge to share it: Lord Sifer of Bitra.

"Lord Meron!" the old man said in surprise when he saw him.

"Lord Sifer," Meron said, a sly smile appearing on his face.

"They even summoned _you_ out here?" Sifer said, his brows furrowing.

Meron didn't let his smile fade, but the light-false as it had been-went out of his eyes. "I am a Lord, am I not? And this _is_ a full Conclave?"

The old fool immediately backpedaled. "Well, of course, of course. I thought, with your illness...You're looking well. Well indeed! We haven't heard much out of you, that's all, not after Master Robinton announced who your heir would be, should...should..." and his eyes flicked over Meron's obviously hale form.

"And you _believed_ him?" Meron said very, very softly.

Lord Sifer blinked.

"What's going on here?" Meron said to change the topic before the idiot could reply. He gestured at the room.

"What makes you think _I_ know?" Sifer groused.

The room was full of Lords, Weyrleaders, and Masters, and a few of their right-hand men, clustered together and murmuring. Lord Groghe, former Lord-Warder Lytol, and Lord Jaxom stood talking in a clump, and Mastersmith Fandarel sat huddled at the long, stone table, talking to one of his own Craftsmen, Master Wansor who had been involved in all the kerfluffle about stars. Maps of the heavens were strewn about. On one side of the room a strangely designed table stood, made of some black wood it seemed, and the end of the long table had precisely Crafted boxes on it, covered in a shiny lacquer. Weyrleader N'ton of Fort stood talking to Weyrleader T'bor of High Reaches. T'bor was giving N'ton a frown. D'ram of Ista Weyr joined them a few moments later. Benden Weyr was nowhere to be seen, which made Meron suspicious.

Master Robinton entered a few minutes later, a Harper Journeyman at his side. Meron watched as Robinton immediately joined Lord Groghe, Lytol, and Lord Jaxom, then floated over to Master Fanderal and Master Wansor, then glanced at N'ton before leaving out a side door. The Journeyman went to the lacquer boxes, and began passing them out.

Were they a gift? If so, from who, and for what?

"Sirs," the Journeyman Harper said when he worked his way over to their side of the room, bowing to Meron and Sifer and passing the objects to them.

They were not lacquer boxes. They were books, of a type and quality he'd never seen before. Meron opened the cover and turned the pages, rich colors and unfamiliar script dancing before his eyes. Next to him, Sifer just frowned and moved the book further and further from his face, so as to be able to focus his eyes on it. Given the unfamiliar script, this was futile. As soon as things began to come into focus...they were too far to see, and he moved the book back towards his nose.

"Harper," Meron said, as the Journeyman moved away towards N'ton, T'bor, and D'ram.

The man paused. "Sir?"

"Who are you?" Meron knew he'd seen the man before. If this was Robinton's right-hand man, and not one of a handful of Harpers that tended to show up in Robinton's wake, he wanted to _know_ who he was.

"Journeyman Sebell."

"And is this," Meron gestured with the closed book, "A 'gift' from the Harper Hall?"

"Not from the Harper Hall, no, sir. More will be announced, shortly."

Lord and Harper stood, studying each other.

"You've been to my Hold, haven't you?" Snooping...

"I've been to every Hold, Lord Meron," Sebell said smoothly. "Please excuse me, I need to pass the rest of these out so that nobody is at a disadvantage."

And the man scurried away, like the vermin all Harpers were.

Meron's eyes followed him as he went around, visiting every Lord, Master, and Dragonrider.

Then, as the piles of books at the end of the long table dwindled and just about everyone in the room was holding one, the Benden Weyrleaders showed up, along with a passel of riders, some familiar and others less so to Meron, and Lytol took charge of the room, formally calling the Conclave to session.

...how had Lytol gone from Lord Warder to leader of the Conclave, anyhow? Meron did not recollect agreeing to that. He frowned, but decided to put the topic aside. He could ask about it later.

Thus, the most important people on Pern took their seats...except for Master Robinton, who stood patiently behind Lytol's chair and slightly to one side, as if waiting to be introduced.

Lytol himself sat, then droned on with the usual opening statements-the day it was, the turn. He ran through the list of Lords, Weyrleaders, and Masters invited. Not a single man or woman were absent, surprisingly enough. To Lytol's left, the Archivist assigned from the Harper Hall to Fort Hold scribbled away in cramped and shortened drumcode on a hide, recording the minutes. Then, finally, they got down to business.

"-has been called by three parties, as required: Masterharper Robinton of the Harper Hall, Weyrleader F'lar and Weyrowman Lessa of Benden Weyr, and Lord Groghe of Fort-"

Yes, yes, Meron had already known which faction had called this untimely Conclave...although it was surprising Lord Groghe had put his word behind it too. He wasn't as malleable to Benden Weyr's call as some were.

Then Lytol gave the room to Robinton.

Robinton cheerfully greeted them, bade them good morning, made a few little jokes, and generally acted like a harmless fool pattering on with a gigantic smile on his face. Meron watched him, his own less friendly smile curling up a corner of his mouth, higher and higher as he watched the Harper rambled on.

He smiled because as he watched the Harper try to set the mood of the room, one thing became abundantly clear to Meron:

Robinton was scared shitless.

Something had scared the Harper _so much_ he was monologueing instead of engaging them, adroitly cutting off those who made sounds as if they wished to speak instead of pausing gracefully. Very unlike him; he often preferred to capture a victim and use their own words against them to set an example. But now, he let nobody have a word edgewise. Not a single person.

Robinton talked about the challenges Pern had faced, first with approach of the Ninth Pass, then with Thread unexpectedly changing its patterns. He spoke about star-charts and the beauty of the heavens. Then he sang parts of three different ancient ballads, musing about the origin of man, and if Pern were alone in the universe.

Then he told them about a Crafter named Jeff-Raven.

And said this Crafter came from the _stars_.

And that this man in the stars had _spoken_ to Robinton. In his _head_. Like a dragon.

The room began to erupt in noise, and Lytol stood up and shouted at them to let the Harper speak.

Meron just stared. Of all the things he'd fantasized about in idle moments, Robinton losing track of his lies and insinuation and falling under the weight of his own story was his most desired...but he'd never been foolishly under the impression that it would ever _happen._ So there had to be something he was missing. Moving his glance to the side, he noticed there were a portion of men who did not jeer or grumble. Most of them had signed the summons Meron had responded to.

They already knew about this. It was no joke.

He hid his shock with a sardonic smile and leaned back in his chair to watch.

Then Robinton proclaimed that "Jeff-Raven" had a message for _them_. Meron was not alone in glancing around to see if there was a stranger in the room. But Robinton ducked away to go over to the odd superfluous table.

And from the table arose a huge vision of a man's head and shoulders in the air, larger than life.

This time, even Lord Groghe and Lytol, N'ton and Fandarel, and everyone else who had seemed in the know stared in shock. And the rest of the room erupted at the sight of a giant head of a man speaking to them. Questions were shouted at it, accusations of cowardice when it was clear the image they saw was not an actual half-person, but something else. Men and women demanded that Robinton and Fandarel cease with their tricks and bring the man _here_, but the vision rising from the table continued to speak on at them, oblivious to those who tried to interact with him.

#

F'lar had a twinge of sympathy for the Harper. Or rather, several of them. Robinton had not yet mentioned the involvement of the Weyrs; instead, he focused on breaking the news in general, and voicing a few hopeful thoughts about what this discovery meant for their understanding of the universe, and other such topics. F'lar could see the strain...or rather, he could _sense_ the strain. Indeed, it almost seemed there was something off about Robinton...a way he was reacting now, today, that F'lar hadn't seen in him in previous occasions. _Mnementh,_ he said.

_The only one in the Harper's head is the Harper,_ his bronze told him. _But they are shouting loudly, right now._

F'lar frowned, because actually the room had quieted, until he realized Robinton was likely hearing more than just words.

But he didn't step in, yet.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Robinton kept restarting the tri-d of Jeff Raven, for it hadn't yet been allowed to play completely to its end before being drowned in shouts. But, eventually, it completed a play-through to a mostly-silent room.

And then the questions rose to the surface once again.

"And what sort of coward talks at us through...through..._that_...without actually coming here face to face?"

"And what do you _mean_ by mind-speaker?"

F'lar stood. So did Lessa. Eyes turned to them.

"Master Robinton was not the first one they contacted," Lessa said. "Although their contact with Master Robinton was more blatant, since they seem to _fear_ the Weyrs and chose not to face us head on. Let us introduce to you C'cel, rider of green Aloth..."

F'lar put a steadying hand on the C'cel's shoulder as the rider stood.

"Ah," C'cel said, then bravely forged on, doing what he had insisted on doing, although he hadn't nearly as much time with the Talents as Robinton had. "Good evening, Lords, Ladies, Masters, and Weyrleaders..."

#

By the time the Conclave had finally argued its way into a stupor many hours later, D'red had a new respect for C'cel. Given the choice between fencing words with the Masterharper, and fencing words with an unknown greenrider, most of the aggressive Lords and Masters chose the greenrider. But C'cel steadied as the night went on-for he hadn't experienced much and they were giving him much practice repeating what little he knew over and over-and he was well protected; Aloth, of course, had his back, fierce and unwavering, and both Lessa and F'lar were quick to take a hold of the conversation, and when they didn't, Robinton intruded again.

F'nor eventually rose and gave D'red a tap on the shoulder, even though F'lar and Lessa were still busy answering questions and discussing possible plans for interacting with the men from the stars. D'red gave the brownrider a grateful half-smile for having the guts to call it a night, then rose, stretched the aches and kinks out of his back, and followed.

But although F'nor had decided to call it a night for those of them in the Benden Weyr contingent who weren't directly involved in the last lingering Conclave discussions, D'ram had other ideas and stopped D'red as he and F'nor exited the Conclave room.

"May I borrow D'red for a while?" the Istan Weyrleader asked.

"That's up to D'red," F'nor said.

_Nice of him to think so,_ Nariath said wryly in the back of D'red's mind, as they had been stationed at Ista Weyr under Weyrleader D'ram for many turns before transferring to Benden Weyr. It was clear D'ram was taking advantage of that former association in order to gain insight into what Benden Weyr was doing. D'red shot a sense of amusement back at his blue dragon, and said, "I'm able to be borrowed as long as I'm returned where I was found once you're through with me. With no cracks and freshly washed."

D'ram glanced over at F'nor. "Has he started trouble in your Weyr yet?"

"Why do you think he's _here_ tonight?"

D'ram snorted.

D'red said, "Bad gambling luc-"

"-C'cel's weyrmate?" D'ram guessed at the same time.

Nariath said, _The two are not mutually inconclusive. Perhaps I will be lucky when Aloth flies next...would you like to make a bet?_

D'red rolled his eyes. "You just gave Nariath ideas," he confided to D'ram.

The oldtimer Weyrleader chuckled. "I doubt that. He comes up with them fine all on his own."

F'nor chuckled at this, then excused himself, leaving D'red alone with D'ram.

"So, if you're not there to support C'cel, why _were_ you here tonight, bluerider?" D'ram asked, taking D'red by the shoulder and leading them away deeper into Fort Hold, in the direction of the stairways that would eventually lead them to the top of the Hold-or cliff, depending where the closest stairway let out-where their dragons could meet them.

"You would have to ask Weyrleader F'lar that, or Weyrowman Lessa, sir," D'red said, dropping back to something more formal. D'ram didn't mind a joke...as long a it didn't go on too long. Then he and his bronze both got techy.

The red-haired Weyrleader glanced over at him.

At the same time D'red heard a familiar voice say, _You can tell D'ram._

D'ram's eyes widened and he stopped short, bringing D'red to a stop as well. "Ramoth-?"

_No,_ D'red said. _That was Lessa herself._

D'ram's eyes flicked down to D'red's mouth, which had not moved.

_It really was, ah, luck, sir. And a series of gambling experiments. They were really after C'cel, but wanted a bluerider to round out the group and since I just happened to be there-_

"You're as clear as my own dragon-!" _And he's just a bluerider,_ was the after-thought that came after the voiced comment.

D'red tried not to feel miffed-for fear the man would pick it up, he _was_ a Weyrleader after all, and his hand on D'red's shoulder was likely why D'red had heard the wayward thought at all and touch went two ways-and instead said calmly, "Well, we've been practicing..."

#

Afra adjusted the front of his semi-formal tunic before the mirror, then reached over to give Ringle a scratch between one of his wide fluffy red ears. "How do I look?" he asked the coonie rhetorically.

Ringle garbled up at him a complicated opinion, then leapt off the shelf he'd been occupying and wandered out of the bedroom towards the kitchen.

"Damia's going to keep that filled for you, you know," Afra said, grabbing his carrisak and following his pet out. "While I'm gone."

The coonie gave the coonie equivalent sound of, "That's nice," and dived face-first into his kibble bowl. He was getting fat in his old age.

Afra left him to his meal.

"He won't even notice you're gone," Gollee said a few minutes later, when Afra exited his quarters. "Wow. What _did_ he say about your appearance? Maybe you should have listened to him."

Afra lifted an eyebrow.

_I thought we'd corrupted the Capellan out of you _years_ ago, but-did you get all nostalgic and go shopping back home? At your dad's stores?_

"Are you insinuating that my clothing is inappropriate?" Afra asked.

"You look like a stuffy old Capellan bureaucrat," Gollee said, but the critical words were combined with a shaft of brotherly affection.

Afra eyed Gollee's inky ensemble. "And you look like a man-in-black. A G-man."

"Exactly! I look like a G-man. Not a bureaucrat, even though I technically am. I look like a _Gee_. _Man_. I look _terrific_. You look...seriously, man, you look hideous." Gollee waved an astonished hand at him like he had no choice but to give up on Afra.

"Will you give me some credit and try to believe that I may have chosen this on purpose?" Afra asked.

This time, Gollee raised an eyebrow.

"Our diplomatic instructor for these seminars is a Villeneuve."

Gollee waited.

"Very old family, very traditional family. They control about a third of the vineyards on Capella. When they're not planting and treading upon grapes, they broker most marriage proposals in the upper two percent."

"Huh. So they tried to marry you off? And that's how you know of them?"

Afra chuckled. "No. My grades were a fraction too low to allow me onto their list."

Gollee thought about this. Afra could pick up nothing from behind his shields. But then he said, "Now, Afra...you know I don't go snooping in people's files-"

"-you delivered me notice of my last raise."

"Well, yes. Exactly."

Afra gave his friend an amused look.

"You _were_ at the top of your class," Gollee finally said. "Rowan didn't choose a dummy for her second in command."

"I shared the spot," Afra said. Because it was true, and it had disappointed his family deeply. "And I was a Talent."

A small wave of anger vibrated off of the other man. Gollee was _not_ fond of discrimination against Talents.

"While I'd normally agree with you, it wasn't a bad outcome in my case," Afra said. "If I'd been a listed as a potential spouse on one of the Villeneuve rolls, I probably wouldn't have had the courage to send the Rowan my application. If you go offworld, they permanently remove you, and don't make exceptions for Talented 'ports who can come back quickly at will. Since I was only on the normal rolls, like my siblings, and I was the youngest of five, our family had already made all the connections it was likely to have made for our generation, and everyone was thinking of the grandchildren at that point."

"...so if this Villeneuve roll wasn't anything you wanted...why are you dressing like this for one of theirs?"

Afra smiled once more. "I want to see how she reacts. Aren't you curious about what happens when an old diplomat meets a T-3 empath?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Gollee Gren had, admittedly, been quite curious about what happened when an old Capellan diplomat met _Afra_...or perhaps the other way around. But it really wasn't all that interesting, from the outside at least. And Afra's shields were too tight to let him get a glimpse of what Afra was getting out of it.

So about four hours into the intense session with the top diplomatic brass of the Nine Star League and a score of specialists hoping to get in on the action, he began to get twitchy. Of course, he hid it. He'd be damned if he let anyone get a handle on the FT&T through him. He shielded it from Afra, met every diplomat's fake smile with one of his own, asked for history and citations of other diplomatic situations, and why they felt with the Pernese he and Afra should act one way or another.

Then when they let them all run free for restroom breaks and food, he stabbed refrigerated grapes on toothpicks from the buffet and ate them, let his Talented mind sort through much of the advice he'd been given about pre-industrial societies. And he thought about the Pernese minds he'd already touched. Glanced over at Afra who seemed bent on interacting with the Capellans, mostly sacrificing his lunch, even though Gollee halfway sensed that they were starting to fatigue Afra too.

Then in his pocket, there was a soft chime.

Gollee would have ignored it, for anything important would have been 'pathed directly into his head, most likely by Earth Prime himself as everyone knew he wasn't to be disturbed today, but the chime was distinctive, and tied to his daughter although not actually her, and it _was_ their lunch break, so he slid his phone out.

_Cassandra McLoffy_, the screen said. Not his daughter, but one of his daughter's friends.

He immediately reached out to touch his daughter's mind, but she was in school and listening, half-asleep, to a lecture. So it didn't have anything to do directly with her. Also, the last time little Cassandra had phoned him directly had been due to a butt-dial. So he let it vibrate and speared a piece of melon on his toothpick. _They really cut no corners on this lunch, eh?_ he 'pathed to Afra, giving the Capellan an image of the tired, cold, cut-up Earth fruits.

The phone rang again. And then he got a bad feeling.

So he answered it. "Butt-Dialer's Express; how may I direct your call?" He kept his voice jolly but quiet-although he was sure this room was bugged to Mars and back and they'd have it on record anyhow. Oh well.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Gollee wanted to smile, _wanted_ to imagine Cassandra's _what the hell?_-face, but the _bad feeling_ didn't go away, so he changed his visualization of her face in his mind, and reached out to her. She wasn't a telepath, and he didn't know her mind well so it took a few moments...

...and was hit by a wall of fury as vivid as any he'd encountered from a non-telepath. And a sense that she _was_ listening, and hadn't dialed him by mistake. Oh no, it was on _purpose_. She was calling _him_.

His eyes widened and he immediately changed his track. "Cassandra, I apologize. I only meant to be goofy," he said as sincerely as he could when it felt like a teenaged girl wanted to kill him in his tracks.

"So it's all _glee_ and _mirth_ to you, isn't it?" the girl spat at him over the phone. It should have been silly, such words coming from an average, modern girl's mouth.

And yet they felt like portent, vibrating through the phone to his ear, and from her mind to his where he reached out to her.

And then the line went dead.

And then the mind went...

...not dead, but silent like someone had flipped off a switch. The silence of a suddenly unconscious mind.

Alarm flashed through him, and he quickly dialed his daughter's school. They picked up and he directed them to go looking for an unconscious girl. Then he put them on hold and called her parents.

Behind him, Afra drifted over, clearly having sensed Gollee's spike of alarm.

"Hello Gollee," a woman answered. "I don't usually hear from you in the middle of the day-"

Or actually, she pretty much never heard from him, as his wife usually was the one interacting with their daughter's friends. He more often than not put long hours in at the Tower. "Good afternoon Sansa. I'm afraid I have bad news of some sort. I just had a very strange call from your daughter, and then she fainted, and I've alerted the school medics-"

A minute after he started explaining to Cassandra's mom, the phone beeped and he flipped back to the other line, and then connected the two after assuring them both that his mental scan said both the area and the girl were currently free from external malign influences. Otherwise, he would have 'ported right over. Sansa and the school both thanked him, and then the call was ended.

_Do you need to step out?_ Afra asked.

Gollee frowned, then took another bit of melon. _You were listening in?_

A swift, quickly-muted shaft of horror. _I'd _never_ intrude on your family life,_ Afra said.

_I didn't mean-I _know_ that Afra. _He sent a soothing shaft at the honor-bound Capellan. _What I meant was, Cassandra was named after her great-grandmother, who was clairvoyant. What a name to saddle a Talent with...and twice in the same family! You'd think the elder would have had a vision to warn against that...But anyway, I got a call from her, and her mother was thinking about three weeks ago, when the girl had her first vision. Which I hadn't known._

_Cassandra contacted you with a precog?_ Afra asked.

_Either that or I somehow killed her pet hamster in my sleep or something. I don't know how I could have earned so much anger with anything I _know_ I've done._

Afra was quiet for a moment. _It probably wasn't really you she was angry at,_ Afra offered. _I hate it when the young ones are sensitive to violence_.

Gollee nodded in agreement. It was hard to see a young clairvoyant caught in a vision that forced them to confront humanity's deepest horrors as personally as if it was happening right in front of them. _I don't think this was that. I think she was truly upset with me._

_Are you sure?_

"Have you ever had someone have a vision about _you_, to _you_, before?" Gollee asked Afra.

The blond Talent considered this, then nodded. "Once." _Isthia._

Gollee gave Afra a double-take. Jeff had told him his mother sometimes saw things, but none of them had ever been officially logged in the FT&T's records. Gollee had asked around about it on Deneb-with Jeff's blessing-as he'd wanted to be prepared if Jeff or any of his offspring ever exhibited such things during the course of a Tower day. A double-path telekinetic was a blessing in a Tower. A double-path telekinetic precog...could be a curse. "Really? What did she tell you about?"

Afra didn't say anything, just looked at him.

_Well, then you know. What it's like to hear it about you. Even if you don't understand it._

_You're really that sure?_

Gollee thought of the focus Cassandra had had on him, and nodded, although he frowned as well. _The message was for me._

_Was it about Pern?_ Afra asked, then Gollee got the impression he hadn't meant to be nosy and was slightly irked with himself for it.

Gollee sighed. "Now _that_ I don't know. I sincerely hope not."

But he'd follow up with Cassandra and her family later. With Jeff if he had to.

#

At the end of the afternoon session with the diplomats, Gollee Gren headed directly home...and directly meant quick-stepping out the door and teleporting away in the second before the rest of everyone else made it into the hallway. Afra frowned in the general direction he'd seen Gren heading...and where he conspicuously no longer was. Every non-Talent would know he'd teleported away practically in plain sight. Of course, that phone call...

"He's always been a brash young man," Xenobiologist Joclyn Soon said with a sigh. She was a tiny woman, finer-boned than the Rowan even, with brown skin so fine and wrinkled it looked like some of the thin onion-skin decorative origami paper that Afra occasionally used.

And he wasn't quite sure when she'd joined him. He glanced down at her in mild surprise, and she tilted her head to the side to look up at him, and he realized she was a telepath/empath as well.

She'd just been "hiding" from him. Very skillfully, for he had not noticed at all.

"It's a good trick, out in the field, when the only thing you have to protect yourself is a few guns and you really don't want to shoot the poor things because they're just protecting themselves best they know how," she said. "Of course, you and Mr. Gren said these 'dragons' are sentient..." Her hazel eyes flicked from side to side as she looked up into his.

"There is no doubt to me that they are," Afra assured her. "And, since they telepathically bond with humans, obviously much more amiable to humanity than the Hivers." It was a comfort that they were too; he remembered the cold, alien thoughts of the Hiver queens.

Funny, how dragons had "queens" too. But if Hiver queens were remove, dragon queens were anything but. Lessa and Ramoth-he was looking forward to meeting them.

Xenobiologist Soon, telepath or not, was oblivious to his shielded thoughts and made a face. "That Hiver metal is nasty stuff," she said. "And I suppose it's the diplomats' jobs to make sure the dragons' humans are amiable to _us_..."

"Do you know Gollee Gren?" Afra asked, for he was still curious about her comment. Neither he nor Gollee were truly considered "young" any more.

"We're acquainted." _I worked in the Tower part-time under Prime Reidinger until I finished schooling._

He blinked at her, taking in her finely wrinkled skin again.

She smiled, a subtle thing that curled the corners of her mouth up like a cat's. "I've changed career several times. Believe it or not, I'm the juniormost Xenobiologist here; I'm studying under Dr. Zenoh."

Dr. Zenoh-"Pardon the name but it is what it is!" she'd said immediately upon introduction-had been at the session early on but had stepped out, citing other preparations that had to be made just in case they got the go-ahead for a physical landing soon (and she'd shot a significant look at Afra and Gollee both).

"What's your specialty?" Afra asked.

"Co-evolution and symbiotic relationships," she said.

That explained why someone who had shifted careers was here. That, plus her Talent, actually made her more qualified in certain ways than Afra himself. Yet, why had neither Jeff nor Gren mentioned her as a contact? _If I may be bold-do they know-?_

She hesitated. _Dr. Zenoh does. She fought for me to stay on this team despite my lack of seniority. The others..._

Afra felt her attention shift, and saw two others from Dr. Zenoh's team approaching. A man and a woman, as unalike as possible.

The man was of medium height, with pale skin and wispy flyaway blond hair so light in color that his eyebrows looked like they didn't exist, and his face gave the impression of a smooth, surprised-looking double curve of brow-bone. The woman was only a few inches taller than Xenobiologist Soon, but considerably heavier, with gray-streaked tightly curled dreaded hair pulled back in a ponytail, and very dark skin and eyes.

"Afra Lyon, is it?" the woman asked. Her voice was much lighter and clearer than he'd expected.

"Yes," he said. "Shalain Bjorsdottir?"

She nodded. "This is Matthew Glenduwm," and she gestured at the man, who bowed, Capellan-like, although he didn't have the tint one born on the planet would have.

Afra solemnly bowed back.

"We were hoping to speak to Talent Gren-" _as close to Earth Prime as we can get_, her mind mulled as she spoke, "But he seems to have left already-"

"He was called away," Afra said, but didn't offer more for her fishing expedition. "May I assist?"

Afra heard what she "knew" of him cross her public mind. He had been stuck on a moon forever, since he got out of school practically. Did repetitive slave-labor throwing cargo from start to star _really_ develop a person as a human being? She couldn't think how any sort of intelligent person would let themselves be trapped like that, no matter how lucrative the pay. He had no experience in diplomacy, biology, or anything practical for a situation like this. He was the epitome of a FT&T schmuck, sucking at the heavily subsidized FT&T teat, a flesh and bone drone that did his mere six hours a day then played with more money than anyone sane knew what to do with.

He had a sense that she didn't hate Talent, not really...she just felt the FT&T had its hand up the asses of the Nine Star League, sucking regular people dry while trying to grab riches for its trumped-up unskilled labor pool, and any person who chose the cozy confines of the paternal Company over really living _life_ like the rest of them deserved what they got when such behemoths finally fell.

And the fact that he and Gren were even _here_ was proof that the FT&T were pulling the Nine Star League's strings. But at least Gollee Gren popped up on the net from time to time, speaking for the FT&T, or going to this or that meeting. Afra Lyon had never in the past twenty years stuck his head out into public. He was just a puppet for The Rowan to work through.

A mix of emotions went through Afra at this thought-barrage, especially as she had to _know_ he could read these things in her mind. She was quite loud, for a non-telepath. And yet...were he honest with himself, he couldn't say the basis for her thoughts lie in falsehood. She took the facts to different conclusions than he did, obviously...he had far deeper insight into what would happen to economies of planets and the coherence of the human race as the Nine Star League should the FT&T vanish, which in turn instilled in him a great sense of duty...but it was true that Earth Prime had explicitly bullied the Nine Star League into allowing his and Gren's presence. It was true he did not have a science background, and that he had professionally done nothing other than worked for the FT&T since he left school. It was even true that the FT&T paid Primes such exuberant salaries and bonuses because the strongest Talents also tended to be the most intelligent, and it took very large bribes to keep such quick-thinking minds tied to a Tower (although, thankfully, no longer as tied to a single Tower and planet as they had been before Jeff Raven). And some younger Talents just didn't realize that their salaries, relative to the work they put into their lives and education, were wildly above the level any non-Talent could expect fresh out of school.

Even so...Afra hoped he had more to contribute to this endeavor than this woman believed.

Of course, to his earlier offer of assistance, Shalain Bjorsdottir just shook her head, for she had wanted to talk to the "real" deal, Gollee Gren, and in his absence she turned to her junior teammate Joclyn Soon. A moment later, all three Xenobiologists were headed back to rendezvous with Dr. Zenoh.

_You see why I don't mention it, right?_ Soon thought at him as a parting shot.

_What is her specialty?_ Afra asked, preferring not to answer Soon's question.

_The effects of natural and external-made disasters on planetary species. She's an xenoecologist as well as xenobiologist._

Afra thought about thread. _Dr. Zenoh's chosen an interesting team._

Soon chuckled in his head, then vanished as she apparently exceeded her telepathic range.

#

"Menolly! Menolly, wait up!"

Menolly hesitated at the unexpected sound of an old friend's voice, and turned, her eyes searching the Gather for the woman.

A moment later greenrider Mirrim appeared, riding leathers half-undone to cool the sweat from dashing through the Gather. "Menolly! What's going on?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Menolly chided, grimacing at her friend.

Mirrim's eyes flashed. "You bloody well can! Besides, Path and all the dragons are talking about it, as is the Gather. Is that what's had the Weyrleaders in a tizzy? They wouldn't even tell T'gellan what it was, not even N'ton, but they had some _other_ greenrider in on it!"

The _Gather_ was talking about it? Menolly glanced around at the gossiping people around her, then realized that yes, there was a garbled, muffled chain of thought...full of excitement, confusion, and fear...

Oh dear. Master Robinton had dearly hoped it wouldn't spread beyond the Conclave...but in retrospect, that was too much to ask, wasn't it? "What do you know all ready?"

"That...that there's people living on the moons, or something, that Impress each other-human to human!-and..."

"That's a load of-"

"Well I _know_ it is. That's why I'm asking _you_ for the truth. What's going on?"

"Brekke hasn't told you?" Menolly asked. "Or F'nor?"

"Brekke...F'nor..." Mirrim threw her hands up. "_They're_ in on it too? I should have known. And I suppose Manora too..."

"I don't know if she is or not," Menolly said. "Look, if the Gather's talking about it already, I need to...there's some songs I have to sing-"

"You're going to tell me through a _song_, like everyone else?" Mirrim's tone was full of scorn, but behind it, cutting as keenly as a blade, Menolly sensed the other woman's sense of betrayal, and a dark, toxic thought that Menolly thought there was something wrong with Mirrim too, even though Menolly _knew_ what it was like to be the only woman-

Menolly grabbed Mirrim's hands. "No, it's not like that. But this is a very big thing and if it's going through the Gather already, I _have_ to be on stage. It's a command from my Master, and my duty, and I worked very hard on this song. I promise I'll come tell you the details after," she said, earnestly, shaking Mirrim's hands once for emphasis. Then she leaned forward and whispered, so nobody would overhear. "I promise. Things that won't be in the song. And there's _nothing wrong with you_, so don't think like that!" and she sent Mirrim a shaft of friendly affection, much like she did with Beauty, or, nowdays, with Robinton as they learned these...Talents. She hoped that Mirrim would sense-

Mirrim jerked her hands out of Menolly's in shock. Yes, she'd sensed it all right, and-

But Menolly had already _promised_ she would explain, so she gave Mirrim a look of apology for dumping..._that_...on her so suddenly, then turned and darted through the crowds, making a line like a firelizard's flight towards a stage where she could already see Carl and Talmor and Piemur setting up.

Carl, a Journeyman a couple of years older than Sebell, frowned at her when she sidled up to the stage and held up her gitar so someone could take it. "You're not scheduled-"

"Change of plans, Masterharper's orders," she said to him. She also _thought_ it to Robinton.

_?_ was Robinton's response, until she relayed to him what Mirrim had said. Then _!_ and affirmation of her cleverness.

She blushed.

"No need for that," Talmor said in misinterpretation, taking her gitar, and giving her a hand up so she could boost herself onto the stage. "We know you're his left hand, so you're not being presumptuous."

She didn't correct him as to the source of her blush. "Can all of you come in the back with me? I need to explain what my song will be about. All of you but Piemur-"

"Hey!" he protested. "Why am I being left out?"

"Because you're a runt," she said.

He pouted, although she could sense it was all playacting. He knew quite well what she was going to talk to the other Harpers about.

"Set up the stage, runt," Talmor said with a wicked grin then turned away.

Piemur made an obscene gesture behind his back-that made some of the crowd, a mix of apprentices and journeymen from other Crafts, who were watching the Harper's stage, chuckle. But he obeyed, playing the part of the runty, put-upon, lowest-ranking Harper grunt perfectly, knowing idle eyes were upon him and even if all he was doing was setting up the stage, he still had a duty to entertain.

Menolly rolled her eyes.

Once in back, she gave Carl and Tagetarl the summarized version: there were humans that lived on planets that circled around other stars-which were suns, just very far away, like Wansor had discovered many turns ago-that could talk mind-to-mind like dragons, and they wanted to come trade with Pern. The Conclave was about setting the terms for that to happen.

Both other Harpers stared at her in shock.

"And we're just going to _tell_ them that?" Talmor asked, his voice thick with astonishment, the primary thought in his head being that _she_ was insane, Master Robinton was insane, and that crowd was going to turn very ugly, very fast, and rip apart the stage, their instruments, and _them_ with it.

"Yes," Menolly said. "Well, no. In a song." She gave a half smile. "You know that."

Carl pursed his lips. "Menolly...I don't know any good way to say this. It's..." he made a little sound of frustration. "I'm going to come off as an egg-sucking tunnel snake if I say it...but...Menolly. Have you ever _seen_ a crowd turn ugly?"

"This is Fort Hold, Carl," Menolly said.

"Yes, I know, and typically they allow us to say many things boldly we have to say more quietly in other Holds. That's the price they pay for having fantastic Turnover music turn after turn...us harping at them. But Menolly-everybody knows you. Everybody _likes_ you. Ever since you've come to the Harper Hall I've never seen a crowd turn bad around you, not when you're playing to it. But that's a...partly a product of you just having that _thing_ they like, but also a part of _us_ getting things set up for you-"

Carl was saying-and his head was filling in-that Robinton always was feeding instructions to them...the male Harpers...to get the stage set before she was put upon it. Over and over again.

Menolly frowned, not liking what she was hearing. Then she pushed it aside to think about later, for that even wasn't really Carl's point.

He was trying to tell her she'd never been put in a situation where a crowd not well-disposed to Harpers could be driven to snap and take their ire out on Harpers. He was trying to say that he was sure she'd heard _stories_, but had never _experienced_ it. She hadn't lived in the bad old days, when Fax's men had crippled and hurt Harpers for saying the wrong thing, or even just having the _potential_ to say it.

_Master?_ she reached out, and again filled him in-or tried to.

Robinton cut her off and responded with a sense of trust. Not for her to trust _him_, but for her to trust _herself_.

They _had_ planned this. Whatever Carl was saying now about how badly things had gone wrong for Harpers with a big message, it was nothing on the glimpses and flashes she'd gotten from Master Robinton, who had indeed lived through those days.

And she had not told Carl or Talmor about all of her plans, or the parts about where N'ton had Searched her and she'd turned it down, or how she and Master Robinton had been _practicing_ certain things in every spare bit of time that wasn't spent grooming Sebell for his Mastery.

So she took a breath and spoke. "I understand your concerns, Carl. As you said...our Master likes to set the scene. So that certain things that could happen don't happen."

Carl cautiously nodded, since she seemed to be agreeing with him, as Talmor frowned.

"This is one of those times. We need to go out on stage. My song very simple to learn; you two should have no problem. You'll learn it, we'll go out and sing it, then we'll let whoever was scheduled to play now play after us. And I promise you-_personally_ promise you-what you're warning of will not happen."

"And this is a command from the Masterharper?" Talmor asked.

"What if it wasn't?" Menolly asked, inviting honesty.

"I'd respectfully ask you to find another Harper."

"Which one?"

"Tagetarl might be suitable..."

Menolly nodded. If Talmor didn't wish to participate, Tagetarl would be a good replacement. "Go find him."

Talmor hesitated. "Menolly-"

She smiled. "I _understand_. But I do need a fourth player, quickly, since I'll have to explain again and we're running out of time."

He nodded, then ducked out to find the man. But she sensed that if he didn't want to do it either...Talmor would get on stage and play. Because he'd rather risk himself than another.

"Carl?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'll stay. What would you have me do-run through every Harper until we find one that uses his ass for his brains and messes this up for you because he was stupid?" He gave her a sideways glance. "You know something you're not sharing with us."

"Like I told a friend a few minutes ago...I'll fill some of it in after we do this."

Tagetarl and Talmor appeared again, and Menolly explained to him what she'd explained before. Tagetarl gave Talmor a glance. "Wait..._you_ don't want to do this so you are substituting _me_?"

"I thought maybe there's something I'm missing that you just might get, since Carl is still here, and I guess Piemur must already know, the little eavesdropper..."

Menolly sighed. "Piemur didn't eavesdrop. He's Master Robinton's junior-most Journeyman."

Tagetarl's eyebrows hit his hairline. "That's _worse_ than this talk about men from the stars! By Faranths Egg, what monstrosity have you wrought?!"

And suddenly everyone in the room was howling like that was a much greater hoot than Menolly's plan to go singing to a crowd of unprepared men and women that they weren't alone in the universe.

"Piemur?!" Talmor said. "_Piemur?"_

"Oh shut up!" Piemur yelled back at them.

They laughed harder.

#

"And you can have _them_ come _here_?"

"They are requesting to have a small party of high-ranking people visit us," Lessa explained to the Conclave. "Masters, Lords, their equivalents of Harpers and Dragonriders. They're as curious about us as we are about them."

"Can their Dragonriders kill thread? Forever?"

There was a suddenly brittle silence, for this was tantamount to questioning whether Benden could fulfill the promise it made when the Ninth Pass had started.

Then F'lar smiled an easy smile, and said, "We'll only know if we set a time, date, and place for this visit."

"This is a bad idea," someone said. "If they can speak like dragons, and go _between_...why don't we just go _between_ to them? Instead of letting these people-if they are people-set foot on _our_ lands?"

Wansor cleared his throat. "I heard when F'nor and Canth went to the Red Star, _between_ was unusually severe. Lessa's trip _between_ to bring the Weyrs forward was not the usual length either. Have we found a way to mitigate that? The distances to these other stars are very long, very long indeed..."

"I would rather they take any risk inherent to such travel," F'lar said. "We did not ask for them to contact us. If _they_ wish to trade, _they_ should make the journey."

"We don't need any more dead dragonriders than we have already from thread," someone said in agreement.

"Exactly. Benden Weyr is willing to host-" F'lar began, moving the conversation on, but immediately a firestorm of objections arose, mainly that if they were interested in _trade, _shouldn't they be coming to a Hold or Crafthall?

And the conversation went on like for a while. A few Lords had no desire at all for strangers from the stars to get close to their Holds. A few Craftmasters-the Masterharper and Masterhealer as two examples-were firmly told they had nothing tangible to trade...although Lessa knew that it was more of a move to prevent Robinton from having more access to the strangers than he already had, just like the protest that Benden was unsuitable. Robinton interjected the question of if they really _wanted_ to trade _tangible_ goods, for it seemed certain once Pernese goods and resources vanished from Pern they'd never come back. He was laughed at, for few could imagine trade becoming so frequent and intense it made a dent in the things Pernese had available for themselves.

Lessa shared a glance with him.

_Egg protect us from greedy fools,_ was the soft thought she picked up from the surface of his mind, and she realized suddenly that although he had not made a mental trek to Earth like she had, Earth Prime had shared a vision with him that gave him some idea of how _big_ the Nine Star League was.

And then Lessa _felt _a peculiar roil from somewhere outside, where today's Gather was taking place outside Fort Hold. She rose to her feet as if stretching and went to look out the window.

At first, the Gather looked normal, with people everywhere buying things and eating food and listening to entertainment. Except there seemed to be a mingled calm quiet and muted excitement surrounding the Harper's stage.

Lessa leaned forward and squinted, and saw that Menolly was there, surrounded by Harpers, singing. Well, of course Menolly made a stir-

And then the wind blew just right, bringing a strain of the music with it-

-and she felt herself lean forward through the window, the melody and words suddenly crystal clear and making perfect _sense_, and soothing any fear she might have had of people from the stars-

Lessa jerked back from the windows, and the music-and emotional calmness-vanished. But only because she shielded herself away, put up barriers between herself and Menolly's suggestions.

_She's quite good when she has music supporting her_, Brekke said pensively. Brekke, who had chosen to not attend the Conclave today, and who was attending the Gather instead. Who, until Lessa herself had noticed Menolly singing, hadn't said a _word_ about it. But Brekke didn't notice Lessa's sense of betrayal, and went on. _Why didn't we include her in our sessions again?_

_He's just _telling_ everyone?!_ Lessa practically screamed at Brekke. The only reason she didn't tell it to Robinton himself was because she had a fear, in the back of her heart, that contact with him when she was this angry would kill him.

_Well, I suppose he is her Master..._Brekke said, unflappable. _But _she's_ the one doing it. I don't think Robinton could...?_

Lessa _wanted_ to kill him.

But not _kill_ him. She remembered how his thin mind had crumped under her pressure before.

But-he hadn't even warned her! Warned anyone!

Lessa composed herself, and turned slightly from the window to glance at Robinton.

He stared back, his head propped tiredly on one hand.

She, _Lessa_, had only ever practiced her leaning on a few individuals at the most dire and important times of need. And yet _he_, Robinton, the man who would most often preach at her to restrain herself, was using _Menolly_ to control...hundreds. Thousands! Where was his vaunted restraint?

Why, by the Egg, had he chosen to keep quiet until _now?_ Before the Conclave had given permission to discuss such things outside its boundaries?

If they weren't _in_ the Conclave this instant, she would have...

The door to the room opened, and a young man poked his head in. Benis, one of Lord Groghe's fosterlings. He skirted other people in the room, and bent close to Lord Groghe's ear.

And Groghe, blunt at the best of times, as delicate as an irritated bovine bull at the worst, rocketed to his feet. "What under the Dawn Sisters has possessed you to authorize a song about _this_ out at _my Gather?!_" he roared at the taller, skinnier man. "We're not even _done_ with this Conclave!'

Lytol banged his gavel before the rest of the room could stir itself up and frowned. "Is this true? He has a point, Robinton."

Robinton, for his part, was no longer silently and tiredly watching Lessa. Instead he drew himself to his feet. "My dear Lord Groghe, the news was _already_ all over the Gather. Ask your fosterling there, Benis. He'll tell you, I'm sure. Except it was out there in such a mangled, twisted form that it seemed prudent to set the record straight for a topic of this importance-which is well within my domain to do as Masterharper. Had we _wanted_ to keep this entirely secret, the secrecy should have begun _here_, in this room." Robinton stabbed a finger down at the table. "Since it did _not_-" and Robinton frowned, "my duty was clear. However, since we have not yet discussed the matter of handling news as extraordinary as this among each of our peoples-"

And then, no amount of gavel-pounding could stop the Conclave from venting its collective ire on one particular Masterharper.

#

"Who's on...on after us, Piemur?" Tagetarl said, trying to not let the shaking in his hands show.

Piemur saw it, but pretended not to notice. "That would have been Talmor." He shot a look over at Talmor, who was staring as Menolly as she ran off into the crowd-and not a single person did more than smile good-naturedly at her. "Perhaps we should ask Master Domick if we can change the sets? Or take a break?"

"What _happened_ up there?" Tagetarl demanded.

"Menolly usually gets standing ovations," Piemur said. "So what do you mean?"

"She said you're Masterharper Robinton's Journeyman. So you know _exactly_ what I mean."

"Well, if you know I'm Masterharper Robinton's Journeyman-then you know I can't tell you," Piemur said.

Tagetarl's face darkened.

"Seriously, you can't whallop me just because I'm doing my job," Piemur said in irritation. "Do you want me to tell the Masterharper you want to talk to him about it? See if he can pencil you in around being in a sharding full Conclave? Menolly shouldn't have said anything about who I report to anyhow. I'm going to go talk to Master Domick, since I think Talmor has just fallen in luuurve with her and will be useless for a while."

But just then, Sebell stepped back stage, and Piemur felt a sudden surge of relief, for he hadn't been at all confident he could keep the three senior Journeymen from doing anything rash. Maybe provoke them into beating him up, but that would have only delayed things. _Can you take this?_ he mouthed at Sebell.

Sebell winked at him.

So Piemur finished putting away the stands and instruments, and scampered into the Gather crowd. He was pretty sure Menolly hadn't been going back to the Master, and Sebell had appeared backstage, so it was up to Piemur to report how things went...and that even Harpers Robinton regularly relied upon were disgruntled about the news.

And Menolly's performance.

He wondered if Talmor's stares were natural, or a product of...

Well, he was fairly sure Menolly had absolutely no desire to witch a man into loving her, that just wasn't the type of woman she was, so she'd get him straightened out quickly.

When Piemur got into Fort Hold, the Conclave was apparently too rowdy to let anyone in, so he (along with a dozen other lackeys, some bearing refreshers of food which proved that the Conclave was really into some _serious talks_ right now, because people rarely turned away food) cooled his heels.

And apparently not just lackeys were cooling their heels; a few minutes later Lord Jaxom's wife (and Piemur's friend) was there too, and she came to sit next to Piemur on a bench. "You know, I've never seen you play anything but drums before," she told him, letting him know she'd seen the performance. "Not even when you were my brother's Harper."

Piemur shrugged a shoulder. He hadn't actually understood how he'd managed to get away with it in Southern, but a drum and a few lines of a popular song usually got the men at Southern going pretty well. And he'd had plenty of other Harpery things to take up his time.

"Which I take it you're not anymore," she said.

"Journeymen usually Journey," he said. "I've been reassigned."

She made a face at him, and punched him in the arm.

A few people glanced over at the man the Lady of Ruatha was punching. Piemur made a production of wincing and holding his arm.

She punched him again, then gave him a one-armed hug.

"We have a love-hate relationship," he said to the hallway.

People chuckled.

"I heard that Harpers often specialize in an instrument," Sharra said a moment later. "Do you?"

"No, not really," Piemur said and scratched the back of his neck, not looking at her.

Sharra looked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Piemur used to sing girl songs," a young Fort man Piemur vaguely recognized said. "Wore a dress, kissed the heroes."

Sharra gave him a questioning glance, but failed to keep her eyes from dancing.

"He actually had a really pretty voice," someone else said-all the more awkward because it rang with an honest opinion, with none of the mockery the other man had had.

"Been swept up by the dragonriders of your dreams yet?" the first man asked.

"Given it sounds like they're stabbing each other in _there, _do we really have to have the same out here?" Piemur asked in amusement.

There were a few more chuckles, and the other young men laid off of him.

Then Sharra, coming to the same conclusion that Piemur had...it would be a while before those doors opened...rose. "I want to hear you sing sometime."

"If you wanted to hear a no-talented hack sing, you could ask anyone right here."

"I resent that," Sebell said, coming up the stairs. "I may be a hack, but I'm most certainly a talented one!"

Sharra shook her head at the Harpers, and vanished.

Sebell took her vacated seat next to Piemur. "Long wait?"

"Long wait."

#


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Damia lay back on her Tower couch, and tried to get comfortable. She hadn't wanted to seem like a diva, requesting new furniture, but Gollee Gren's old couch was...well, shaped like _Gollee Gren_. Who decidedly wasn't shaped like _her_.

She hadn't quite expected this level of discomfort. But then, she'd only ever been bold enough to steal Afra's couch in the past, and only then when nobody but he was there to see, and his had always fit her well enough. New couches that didn't have any regular occupants were always slightly uniformly uncomfortable, but never quite this bad.

Had she grown taller than Gollee at this point? The thought was a strange one, but she'd have to discreetly see next time she saw him in person.

And, for now, she'd have to suffer through using his couch. Because she wasn't about to throw a fuss and get her own just for a little bit of subbing in. Besides, she was fairly sure she wouldn't get one even if she did ask.

Sighing, she manipulated the monitors to show her what she wanted to see. The day's manifest. Several things that had to go out first were lying disassembled, and she sorely wanted to start knitting them together for her dad...or rather, dad-as-Earth-Prime...but she recalled Afra mentioning to her once something she would have to be careful of as a new Prime was not over-working her crew in order to prove _herself_. And were she to start knitting together these pods now, she'd have some of the busiest crew in the FT&T starting their shift fifteen minutes early for no better cause than to show off to her dad. Wouldn't _that_ breed resentment!

So she didn't do that. Instead, she browsed to the FT&T's internal net, and looked through it to see if she could get an idea of anything that might cause Dad to slow down, change his focus, or otherwise become distracted during the day.

Afra had also told her that it was a twic's responsibility to remind his or her Prime of things that needed to be done to keep the cargo moving, if they were interrupted for other reasons during the day.

She didn't see anything unusual that stood out to her...but then, she also suspected her FT&T news feed wasn't anything but the corporate line.

Oh well.

Fifteen minutes later, dad...Earth Prime...'ported into his Tower with a hot cup of coffee in his hand. He glanced at her in Gollee's spot, grinned slightly, then flopped down on his own couch-not spilling a drop. "Are we all ready then, daughter-mine?"

"Yes," she said. "Our first five 'ports all require some sort of assembly. I should have it all done within the first few minutes."

Jeff Raven set his cup down, then lay back and flicked the controls that would cause the great Tower generators to rumble to life. "You didn't prepare them?" he asked absently.

"If I start to just move them around before the crew is ready, they might lose track of something," she said. "And the crew starts on the hour."

Jeff sent her a feeling of approval, warm and yellow. _What magic is it that Afra has that makes you listen to _him_, hmm?_

Damia struggled not to frown at his lack of professionalism. She had been ready to start the day working with Earth Prime, not her _dad_, so she said a bit tersely, _I presume whatever it is that makes mother listen to him._

_It would be an interesting world were that true!_ Jeff Raven proclaimed with a physical bout of laughter, but he was shielding and she couldn't figure out what he _meant_ by that, so she frowned...and, as the clock had just ticked to the first hour of operations, reached out to the Earth Tower crew and informed them she'd begin stitching together the _Atlantis_ in exactly one minute.

And then she did just that.

The first two hours of their day wasn't actually all that far different from her exercises...except for the fact that she was in direct contact with the other Primes, which felt somewhat strange as touching the minds of such adults during the work day had always been taboo, and it was difficult to shake the feeling even as she merged with Earth Prime and sent cargo to them.

They whipped easily through everything scheduled for the first third of the day, to the point that she heard Earth Prime tell his Stationmaster to see what departures could be moved up.

_What sort of turbo-powered helper do you have today to help you clean this out so fast? Not that Gren's a slouch-_

_ My daughter,_ Jeff said with a touch of pride, allowing her to hear it.

_Ah-ha!_ The Stationmaster said. _It really is amazing how much of a difference an extra Prime makes..._

"Gren's not-" Damia began to her dad, strangely feeling bad that people could notice the difference _so much_.

"We have a considerably lighter load today. Quantity-wise, not mass-wise. Pure mass-wise, you and I just moved more than usual. I figured I'd take advantage of you to get some ores through more quickly, ones that Gollee and I-and Rowan and Afra-would have to spread out over a few days typically. But since you're here helping me, and Cera is with Rowan...we can move those without worrying about burning ourselves or our seconds. It's always the paperwork that slows things down, you know. The audit trails, the barcoding and scanning into and out of our inventory systems..."

_Oh,_ Damia said.

_I don't doubt we'd be a right mess if I'd thrown you the mass of little itty bitty things we usually do-Gollee's got the red tape cutting down to a science. And as good as you are at the heavy things, red tape takes experience to circumvent. So don't worry about ragging on Gren. My Stationmaster's just relieved that we don't have that ore sitting around taking up space! He was a little peeved yesterday that I set it down on our pads so prematurely when it wasn't even destined for Earth. I always feel a tad nervous leaving it spinning in orbit..._

At that, Damia had to laugh. Particularly since she couldn't really see dad worrying about such things. _Who is going to steal our ore out of Earth-orbit?_ she asked.

_I don't know, _he said, shrugging. _Dragons?_ And he turned his head on his couch to look at her, and winked.

And said no more.

_Dad. Don't tease me!_

_I don't understand why they even _have_ wings, when it's patently clear they must just levitate everywhere if they obey any laws of science..._he said, and then they joined again in a merge to send another shipment out. _Some are bigger than our cargo pods, you know...it has to be a telekinetic workout just to wake up in the morning and go find breakfast when you're that large..._

_Is there going to be a Pern Tower?_ she asked on a private band, as he greeted Capella and they gave their load to her safekeeping.

Dad's idle patter paused. _That's a premature question. We don't have a date yet for a diplomatic team to set down,_ he said. _Much less a permanent FT&T presence._

_Then Gollee and Afra-_

_Training._

_ Training the trainers? _She asked.

He gave her no response-for he obviously felt that he'd told her as much as he could. But then there was a sudden presence touching their minds-just as Capella's Tower generators squealed to a high pitch to send Earth Tower a return load.

_Who-_Jeff said to the new presences, the last bits of his fatherly persona melting away to reveal the steely Earth Prime. Then, he quickly passed her a bundle of thoughts, and almost before the instructions could melt into her mind he dropped out of the merge, just as Capella completed her thrust.

But his instructions _did_ melt into her mind, and just as she felt Capella's surprised _Oh!_ as the Prime-merge she thought she was throwing at became a lone young woman, Damia completed the catch and slapped the cargo down in the right cradle, safe and sound.

_That is a _very_ dangerous trick!_ Capella cried.

_I am sorry, Prime Capella, _Damia said, trying to match her tone to what she thought Afra would say in a similar situation,_ but Earth Prime has some unexpected visitors. The cargo is here safe and sound, but we may need to delay the rest of it._

Damia had a brief sense that Capella was holding her tongue, but then the Prime vanished, leaving behind the idea that Capella Tower could be heralded using the right protocols when ready.

Emphasis on _right protocols_.

Damia felt insulted herself-as if they would have dealt with that load so strangely for no proper reason! But she held her own tongue-or mind, as it were-and withdrew back to her body.

There was indeed a presence here, still...and one that Damia was familiar with, having seen it not all that long ago speak with Afra's body.

Lessa. And her dragon Ramoth.

And...others. It was not a mind-merge, but an odd coalition of minds that had strung themselves out over space like beads, the stronger minds passing back thoughts to the weaker ones left back at the moons and the planet of Pern.

"Brekke" was one of the stronger minds. And, for a second, Damia thought there was someone named Wirenth...but no, Wirenth was dead, _and it was Kylara's fault that Prideth had _MURDERED_ her queen-_

Damia felt herself quivering with someone else's pain and rage, and quickly withdrew-only to feel the surface of Brekke's mind, cool, curious, and polite, but nothing like the maelstrom within the woman-

_What's wrong with her?_ she whispered to her dad.

. _I believe she's an ex-dragonrider,_ he said, after a moment.

She felt a pang of mingled alarm and empathy, and she reached out to her brother Larak to reassure herself that _he_ was still there, that _she_ would never be alone in the way that that woman felt. But he was fine, working on some school work...so that he could spend time on things more fun later. _'Sup?_ he asked.

_Love you, brother,_ she said, and withdrew.

_Bleck!_ he said in mock disgust, but sent love back at her.

And there were strange minds along with Lessa, Ramoth, and Brekke, other new alien minds...a dragon, Mnementh was in front, and way far away, like an echo, was a man named F'lar behind him. Similarly, the alien mind Canth was strong-and tied to a presence that called itself F'nor.

And there were more minds, but not quite as "in front" as the rest. Lioth and N'ton, Tiroth and D'ram. And another pair, alike in Talent but somehow strangely separate from the rest, not quite one of the brotherhood, but more so than others...a "Lord" Jaxom and Ruth.

_Damia,_ Earth Prime said.

_Yes sir?_

And he directed her to take care of putting the Tower on hold while he dealt with this. She was deeply disappointed that she would not be able to stay and listen...but at the same time, proud that he would leave his Tower, even if only for a few moments, in her hands.

So Damia reached out and sent the word on that things would be delayed for at least fifteen minutes, and she would give updates as needed.

Then she busied herself with making sure the rest of the cargo was securely stitched up and ready for go once Earth Prime had finished speaking to the hodge-podge of Pernese Talents.

#

Afra Lyon had not lied to Gollee Gren when at the start of the day he'd purposely dressed in a particularly Capellan manner. He _had_ wanted to see what the reaction would be. But he had, perhaps, not told the entire truth.

Of course, to tell Gollee Gren the entire truth, he would have to be able to tell _himself_ the entire truth. And until Gollee had had the family emergency come up, he'd been hiding the truth from himself. But that sudden event had caused a certain pang of jealousy to arise in him. That feeling of jealousy was quickly broken down, analyzed, and dismissed, true, but that didn't conquer the root reasons for that jealousy. The Method was excellent for hiding immediate reactions, and much less excellent at dealing with the root causes. Such things were never permanently banished, only temporarily dealt with.

He'd known for a while that he wanted what the Rowan had (even if he'd somewhat made his peace with never having _her_), but he'd managed to partially keep peace within himself despite his lack of close family. He'd taken strongly to his role as an uncle or godfather. He'd never had any uncles in his life growing up, or really close family friends, but he'd seen those who had, and being one of those people for the Rowan's family was not a bad thing. Not bad at all, and more than what many other people had.

But that really addressed his lingering issues with being close to, but yet so far away, from the Rowan. With _Gollee_...

Well, Gollee had never known that Afra himself had had his eye on the woman who became Gollee's wife. Afra had quickly let it go when Gollee fell for her, and he had had Gollee's back when he'd gone through the highs and lows of a man newly in love. But Gollee had a well-established family and support network on Earth and Afra had never been called in to be an uncle to Gollee's family after he had married, so he'd never realized until today that there was another one of those little jealousy demons lurking within himself that he hadn't yet demolished. People called Afra to help, but only for the relatively public troubles. There was nobody around who would come to Afra _first_. Not like they would with Gollee. Not like they did with all his other friends who had made lives for themselves with another person.

...except maybe Damia would come to him first, sometimes, a holdover from the years before Larak, but she'd probably grow out of that shortly...

And perhaps he was mischaracterizing the phone call Gollee had gotten, for the vision of a budding precog wasn't really anything like what Afra longed for. Yet, young Cassandra had called Gollee _because_ he was the dad of her friend. Gollee had a wife and daughter. Just like Rowan had a husband and children.

Afra had a rather empty home on a sterile moon. And no matter what he did...or who he dated...it remained that way.

Which was why he was interested in this whole Pernese affair. It's colonization, its people, its dragons...they were all a mystery to enliven his mind, and would require him to move for a time at least to another planet. It would _change_ things. Maybe his life now was too _comfortable_.

And...the dragons...he'd kept away from _them_, because he _knew_ it was a temptation to want to explore the bond a dragon had to a dragonrider, and perhaps the Pernese lack of expertise in Talent was caused by something more than just a lack of education...but Master Robinton's little Zair was very charming. Smarter than a coonie or a barquecat, but able to teleport at will to keep itself out of trouble...and, best of all, able to directly return the love given to it, mind to mind...yes, that was attractive.

But, it was also an unrealistic want too, if he were honest with himself. He understood that firelizards were a Pernese status symbol, and also that for all he or anyone else knew they may not be able to live very well off of Pern. Some native creatures could not leave their planets of origin. It would be an honorless, cruel thing to bond telepathically with a firelizard and then have to abandon it on Pern. Even telepathy did not allow for perfect understanding between two humans, much less a human and a non-human.

So this nagging _desire_ for something _more_, for something _deeper_, was something of an example of a trend in him-he seemed to constantly want what he did not have. The Rowan. Gollee's wife, or rather his family, that sense of belonging in a private, intimate group. A firelizard. And it was clear as the years ticked by that he was not particularly successful at gaining what he desired.

Afra was beginning to feel that his parents had not been quite as clueless as he had used to think, in regards to arranged marriages. His sister had been happily married for years now. And he'd had nothing but failed relationship after failed relationship. He was one of Kama's last clients, now that she'd retired and lived off of the wise investments she'd made over the years, but they didn't have what Afra _knew_ was possible. And, despite Jeffs gigantic frontier family, nobody had any relatives that Afra had been able to kick it off with. The Ravens thought him too stodgy, and he found them boring in their disorganized chaos-sometimes, too eager to claim they were independent when all of them had a huge sprawling family to depend on.

From a Tower perspective, the Rouwan rarely had crew changes anymore, so there was nobody new coming to the moon. And when there was, they were often very young and Talented and getting to know them would be misusing his authority as second of Callisto. _Everything_ was a dead end.

So that's why he'd dressed a certain way today, knowing a certain Capellan diplomat was present. He did it to give his life another prod, another shot of revitalization. Gollee certainly wouldn't understand. Although the man had enthusiastically "converted" Afra to Terran ways, he'd constantly been a bit bemused at the parts that Afra had steadfastly not changed, no matter the pressure. Nor would the Rowan or Jeff understand Afra investigating the possibility of an arranged marriage. Such a thing was fundamentally counter to how they viewed the world.

But _perhaps_, at some time in the future, a diplomat might be exactly the type of person who could show an expat Capellan the route towards happiness he desired.

Well, after Afra learned something of how to be diplomatic towards Pernese.

#

"You mentioned that the colonists on Pern have contacted you again, Earth Prime," Chairwoman Ironsi said to the Talent sitting in the chair across from her desk.

"They would like a diplomatic party to visit Pern, in person, in a month. In fact, they _demand_ it," Jeff Raven said.

The Chairwoman blinked. "A month? That soon?"

Jeff nodded. "That soon."

Ironsi rubbed her brow, then reached back and tucked a stray strand of hair back into her bun-or, went through the motions automatically, as Jeff hadn't noticed anything out of place. Then she steepled her fingers, and absently rubbed them against her lips as she thought. Then she asked, "How long is a Pernese month?"

Jeff chuckled. "I thought you might ask that."

#

When Gollee Gren met Sansa and her daughter Cassandra later that day, the young woman wouldn't meet his eyes, and he sensed a deep embarrassment at her earlier actions on the phone, even though he felt no ill will towards her for it. So when he sat down to dinner with their family, he reached out and gently touched her hand, the very briefest of contacts, and relayed his benign feelings. It was a trick he'd learned from Jeff.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled at her plate.

"Don't be. You've arguably one of the most difficult types of Talent to have, and you've very little training at this point to control it-and sometimes, precogging doesn't respond much to training, ever. Was that your second vision?"

She hesitated, and shook her head. "No. I've had a few, now."

"Do you remember any of them?"

Cassandra nodded. "Yeah. All of them. I'm a lucid clairvoyant...except, I can't control what I say or do, when I get triggered. So I guess it's not really like a lucid dream...I had one of those once, and I just ran about tee-peeing houses because I knew I wouldn't get in trouble," and she gave a shy, and sly, smile.

"More emphasis on the tee and less on the pee, I hope," Gollee teased.

Her shy smile widened to a grin. "Yeah."

"I haven't seen you over at our house, lately; you and my daughter haven't fallen out, have you?"

"Oh no! We actually want to go to this concert in a month. She said she'd ask-uh. Has she?"

"Asked me about a concert?"

"Yeah."

"Not yet. How about you ask for her? What's it about?"

"Oh! Well the one-"

"-there's more than one?"

"-and they're from Betelgeuse, and they do covers. Guess which ones!"

"You do realize I'm a telepath?"

"Well, then it wouldn't be guessing."

"I'm probably not up to date on my Betelgeuse cover bands," Gollee said. "But I'm guessing the tickets are cheap."

"They cover The Beetles. Get it? From-"

Gollee rolled his eyes. "You kids and your rehashed-"

"And then there's this _other_ band, they're Celtic Revival, and they play harps-"

"Just harps?"

"Yeah, and-"

"I guess my daughter is free to go see that one. I don't know how harps could possibly be dangerous. And how can a band be made up of just harps? Wouldn't that be a duet, or a quintet, or a sextet? Or how ever many members they have?"

"I was curious about that too," Cassandra's mom said. "And I didn't realize harps were a thing, now-"

"Well, they're not, I just like them. I had this really fantastic dream, about this old castle. Really renaissance, or medieval, or whatever, and there were _tapestries_ on the walls, except they weren't the types from history, they were star maps. So there was this big room, made of stone, with glowy greenish lights in the corners, and people were arguing about something, but I didn't really pay attention to that, because there were _musicians_-and these _huge_ harps, and they were playing them, and it was the _best_ music, ever. And they were played by two skinny tall men, one old, one young. And there was a drummer boy."

As the girl talked, Gollee began to suspect this was another facet of the girl's Talent, unbeknownst to her. "Wouldn't drums overpower the harps?" Gollee asked, trying to draw her descriptions out.

"No! Not at all. And it was hands down, the _best_ music I've ever heard. So when I woke up, I tried to see if it was a thing on the net, but I couldn't find anything about two male harpists-"

"Harpers," Gollee corrected.

"No, I don't think so," Cassandra's mother interjected. "The plural is 'harpist'. Isn't it?"

"The autocorrect would have tried it," Cassandra said. "I didn't find the guys from my dream, but I found this band-"

"In your dream, what were the Harpers wearing?"

"_Harpists_. Um...I don't know. It looked ethnic. Like a mix of Celtic and Chinese?"

"Did they have names?" Gollee asked.

Cassandra seemed to realize he was no longer idly listening to her prattle on. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly as I said. Did the Harpers have names?"

She went quiet for a while, thinking. "...why do you keep saying it's 'Harpers'?"

Gollee gave a lopsided grin. "Because I suspect your dream was no more a dream than your phone call to me was. If I'm right, the correct term is 'Harpers'."

The girl thought about it some more. Gollee kept out of her head, and dug into his dinner, waiting patiently. Then she said, "I don't know. It was a dream, and the words aren't quite words. Like, I think of men, and pie, and bells, and the son of a bird, like a bluebird or a robin or something..."

As she said this, Gollee touched Jeff's mind, and relayed some of what he was finding out. _We may have our first Pern-sensitive precog,_ he said. _Which in some ways is a relief, although I wish it wasn't my daughter's friend. Am I allowed to try to correct terms for her, or do you think that will contaminate it?_

Jeff was immediately there. _What's this about an angry phone call to you?_

Gollee quickly filled him in-although that part was still baffling. _Can I correct her on the names?_

_In most cases it helps more than hurts. Go ahead. But tell her-_

Gren heaved a mental sigh. _I know. I just hate having to put one so young through the security regs._ Out loud, he said, "Robinton. He would be the older Harper. And Sebell. The younger one. Was the drummer male or female?"

She stared at him. "Male."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps Menolly was in the room, but outside of your viewpoint, then. I don't know who the drummer boy is. Cassandra, I have reason to believe-and Earth Prime concurs with me-that your dream about Harpers was likely another precog. The good news is, if I can humanly or Talentedly obtain a recording of those two Harpers for you, I will."

Cassandra's eyes went huge. "Really? They exist? They were really, _really_ good."

Gollee was not surprised that the Masterharper of Pern and his senior Journeyman were "really really good". "I will try, short of kidnapping and forcing them to perform for me." Gollee grinned. Then he sobered. "The bad news is, if your affinity is for this particular topic...we'll need to get you security clearances."

"What?" Cassandra's mother Sansa said.

"Why? For ren faire performers?"

"She's dreaming about some sensitive topics. Not ren faire, although I wish it were. Well, not really, since the truth is fascinating, but for your sakes since I need to drag you through the official FT&T registration and security now. I have no doubt in the long term it will go public, but right now the situation is delicate."

"Will it hurt?"

Gollee gave the girl an astonished look. "Why would it hurt?"

"Well, _your_ daughter said you had all these stories about Prime Reidinger mind-burning-"

"Ach," Gollee said. "Jeff Raven is no Reidinger. Not by a long shot!"

_Give me another ten, twenty years to achieve sufficient cynicism,_ Jeff said.

_Not if I can stop it!_ To the girl, he said, "No, it won't hurt. I can promise that, at least. Being twic of Earth Tower has _some_ perks, the best one being able to cut most-although not all-of the red tape. So, what do you say-can you promise not to tell anyone else of this dream, or other related dreams in the same sort of setting, and also promise to come visit me at Earth Tower first thing tomorrow morning?"

"Do we have a choice?" Sansa said, cutting in.

Gollee blinked, and said, regrettably, "No."

"Well then. Cassandra and I will be there bright and early."

"In return," he said to the girl, "I promise to give permission for my daughter to attend any and all concerts you two want to go to, this year."

Cassandra let out a screech, and bounced out of her chair to wrap Gollee in a tight, excited hug. He could feel, through the touch, that she was considerably less concerned about the FT&T security measures now than her mother was.

_Tch, tch, bribing children,_ Jeff said. _With your own daughter, no less!_

_Hey. At least I'm not taking candy from them!_

#

"What did you think you were _doing?"_ Lessa cried, the first time she had the Harpers alone in one of the meeting rooms at Benden Weyr, two days of stark chaos later.

Menolly, the one getting the brunt of Lessa's anger, froze, and Beauty mantled on her shoulder, eyes whirling red.

Outside, Ramoth bugled.

The little firelizard queen went silent, but did not leave her mistress as firelizards usually did when Ramoth called. Instead she hunched down, digging paws and feet into the leather pad beneath them, clearly there for the long haul.

Lessa had a very brief moment of respect for the firelizard. But only a little, and very brief.

"_I_ am the Masterharper of Pern, _not_ Menolly. If you have a problem with any Harper, my dear Weyrwoman, take it up with me," Robinton warned her.

"Oh, we will, Master Robinton," F'lar said, entering and closing the door behind him.

"Yet, without _her_, you never could have done what you did!" Lessa said, pointing a finger at Menolly. Menolly's eyes flicked to her, then back to her Master.

"No?" Robinton asked. Then he purposely crossed between Lessa and Menolly, and without asking, helped himself to the wine on the table. "I wonder. The space before a stage isn't all that much bigger than the room the entire Conclave was stuffed into. Which seems well within my spread. Or range. Or whatever you call it." He gave a small mirthless smile.

"What?" F'lar said, flatly. Lessa could sense the anger in him at Robinton's insinuation.

"Not that I _did_. Wine? You're both giving me a headache. _I_ could use something to dull that edge..." and he pressed a full glass first into Lessa's hand, as she was closer, then took a few steps to F'lar and handed one to him. Then he retreated to the seating area. "Menolly. Come sit down with me. I promise if they look as if to bite I'll throw my skinny, emaciated carcass in front of them so that you can use me as a distraction to make your escape. I'm afraid I'm not worth anything as a swordsman, but I promise to use my long arms and legs to flail effectively. I might even hit something. Such as that vase over there."

"I'm _not_ going to hurt Menolly," Lessa said in disgust. "And neither is F'lar. We just...need to _discuss._"

"You're so thin, Harper, my sword would find nothing to bite into," F'lar said wryly. "Fine, come and sit, partake of our wine, since you already did," and he heaved himself into the sofa across the ones the Harpers were sitting on.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Robinton said, his playacting vanishing to show true sincerity. Then he patted Menolly's knee, next to him. "I did not pour wine for you."

"I don't partake this early, Master," Menolly demurred.

"You _can_ have a glass," F'lar offered. "Your master's dramatics about sacrificing his life for yours aside."

Menolly turned an odd shade, and shook her head. Beauty's eyes began to shade a little away from red and more towards orange.

"Suit yourself." F'lar took a generous sip, then leaned forward and set his cup down, brushing aside his forelock as he did so. "We have a month to prepare. To strategize. To plan for the worst."

"Surely you've been preparing for more than a month, by now. Not to mention all the discussion during the Conclave."

"Of course," Lessa said. "But we hadn't expected these people from the stars to agree so quickly." She thought about all the things she'd been discovering, when she'd reached out to touch the minds of people on Earth. And Altair, which was closer to Pern than Earth was. So much knowledge. So many amazing things. Buildings as tall as a dragon could fly. Vehicles in exotic shapes that moved faster than a runner, faster than a dragon flying straight. Amplification of sound, so that one didn't need to shout to be heard.

People with that sort of power did not come seeking people like _them_ unless there was something they wanted. She knew this well. Even F'lar had not originally come seeking her, except in Search for a new queenrider. And she had used him to further her own goals of the time.

Yet, she supposed if she used that comparison, they had come to love one another. Robinton certainly wanted that outcome, between Pern and these outsiders. She didn't know how possible it was. When she touched any given person's mind at a particular point in time, it told her very little about what the people in power really wanted. If she reached out to read Harpers, all most of them knew was their lessons, or their music, or their rivalries or gripes with some strict Master or another in Robinton's Hall. The whole tenor of the Harper Hall-so to speak-showed Robinton was a better leader than, say, Meron, whose Hold reeked of pain and fright. But it told little of the way he conducted himself at, say, Conclave.

Likewise, these "Talents" under this "Jeff Raven" seemed mostly content. They also knew nothing of Pern, for all the books and records and "videos" an ordinary man or woman had access to. Well, most of them knew nothing. Afra Lyon knew of them, as did a few other Talents. He also was unreadable to her.

The ones that _could_ be read knew nothing, the ones who knew _something_ could not be _read_.

"I want to know," she said to the room. "If they can end thread. And what it will cost us if they can."

"Perhaps they can, and will do it out of the goodness of their hearts," the Harper said.

Both Lessa and F'lar chuckled.

"You're unkind to mock my wish. Most unkind." And he took a swig of wine.

"Don't get yourself drunk just yet, Masterharper. There's much to discuss. For instance, we can't have this...type of crowd manipulation," F'lar said.

Robinton cocked his head. "We can't have?" he inquired.

"We've made a lot of progress, here in the Weyr, with these 'Talents'," F'lar began.

"But if we told _them_ to stop-" Lessa said. "To not do something...they would."

"Ah. You have such an iron hold over your Weyr that absolutely anything you command is always obeyed, at all times?" Robinton asked. "Or does nobody ever time it-ever?"

Beside her, F'lar studied Robinton with a frown.

Lessa sighed. "I _can_ enforce it." She hadn't, yet, but she knew in her bones she could.

"So, are you saying the Weyrs should be in charge of this 'Talent' thing?" Robinton said this in a neutral tone, yet Lessa could feel disapproval behind it.

"We've yet to find a dragonrider who doesn't have it," Lessa said. "How many Harpers have you found? Yourself, Menolly, and-? Surely you've been searching?"

Robinton grunted. "Is this...trait...what dragons Search for?"

Lessa and F'lar looked at each other. "We don't know with certainty," F'lar said. "Correlation is not causation, but we shall see." Then he sighed. "If Pern is to develop these...Talents...in order to protect ourselves from these men from the stars, we also need a way to catch and punish those who use it inappropriately," F'lar warned. "Otherwise," and here he gave a short laugh. "We may very well see a Lord worse than Fax arise, and more difficult to extinguish."

Robinton tilted his head at F'lar for a moment, but didn't speak. He took a sip of wine.

F'lar continued. "How do we do that if some Talents are under the command of the Weyr, and some are not?"

"Make a new Crafthall," Robinton said. "With a new Craftmaster."

Beside him, a brief smile flitted over Menolly's face, before vanishing. Beauty's eyes were an eerie yellow-green now, but seemed far less agitated.

"Your Journeywoman is laughing at us," Lessa said drily. "Speak up, girl," she commanded, for she could not hear Menolly's thoughts.

"Oh, it's nothing," Menolly said, looking at her hands. "It's just that...the Weyr suggests Weyr supervision, and the Craftmaster suggests a Crafthall."

"Our biases are that obvious, are they?" Robinton asked with a chuckle. "I mean a new Crafthall, of course. Not an offshoot of ours." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

Menolly turned to him slightly. "The benefit to the Weyr approach is that if the people from the stars _do_ fight us, the Weyr has experience with teaching many how to fight en masse with discipline. But will those without dragons ever feel truly a part of the group, if it is in a Weyr under Weyr supervision? As the Pass ends, fewer dragons will be hatched. The divide among Impressed and non-Impressed 'Talents' will increase. If it's true dragons Search for Talent, they might wonder what test they failed that other Talents who Impress didn't-moreso if the Weyr is to rule over them. On the other hand, a Crafthall will reinforce the idea that Talent is a Craft, like any other. But what does a Crafthall know of fighting? And would anyone _want_ a Crafthall that fights anywhere near their lands?"

"So what would you suggest?" Robinton encouraged.

Lessa and F'lar remained silent, listening.

"See if any militiamen that formed against Fax remain, and if they have Talent. Find some land in Southern-I hear there's plenty." She smiled a little. "Make a Craft_hold_."

"Where in Southern?" Robinton asked.

Menolly hesitated, her eyes twinkling. Then she said, "I would guess where Southern Hold's holding ends. Wherever you think that is."

F'lar let out a bark of delighted laughter. "Kill two wherries with a single bolt? Oh, wouldn't _that_ put a trundlebug up Toric's arse."

"A whole family of them," Lessa said with her own grin. "_Why_ did we let Robinton have you, Menolly?"

"Lord Jaxom's Impression distracted us," F'lar answered.

"It's sweet, isn't it," Robinton said in aside to Menolly. "That they think they ever could have kept you when I had Harpers searching every Hold, crook, and cranny for _months_."

Menolly turned red.

"That said," F'lar said with a chuckle at Robinton's comment and Menolly's blush, "This many turns on, I would want to thoroughly check any guard or militiaman we find was really working against Fax, and not for him. Records get muddy, and as this exercise is to partly prevent a new, Talented Fax from arising, we should be vigilant."

"Why don't we ask Lytol to be in charge of this Crafthold?" Lessa suddenly suggested. "As a former Dragonrider, he's likely to have Talent. He has been a Lord, and Toric will be able to browbeat or intimidate him. And he may well know where the type of militiaman you are looking for may be found."

Robinton sighed. "I suddenly pity Lytol. He was rather shocked at my revelation. Now to be asked to be the head of such an institution-"

"Well, he's had time to get over it," Lessa said. "Having work to do now that he is no longer Lord Warder will be good for him, and nobody on the Conclave will be able to protest his appointment...do you think it's too late to contact him today?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Ahhh. Mandatory quarantine. Gotta love it," Gollee Gren said, two weeks later, as he walked back with Afra Lyon from the medical office stationed on Heinlein Moon Base, Luna.

"It would be problematic if we managed to infect the Pernese with something we're immune to, and they aren't," Afra said, with a hint of censure.

"Oh, I'm not complaining! Actually I am, but that's just more to complain. Quarantine is something you're _required_ to complain about." _If I were to really stop and contemplate how utterly awesome this assignment is, I would explode._

Afra chuckled. But only a little. He wished he could share Gollee's enthusiasm. Instead, he found as the days passed he became more and more nervous, although he hid it under a veneer of Methody stoicism. He'd never done anything quite like this, and neither of them knew, really, what Pern would be like.

Everyone assigned to this assignment was now sharing a wing on the moonbase, isolated from everyone else so that any latent diseases could surface and be eliminated. Afra had been given an inoculation for a minor cold he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring, and both he and Gren had been through more blood tests than they could count. Neither of them had any diseases-once Afra's cold had ended-but both of them had a few assorted lingering antibodies, so they'd both been put through some sort of scrubber to make sure the antibodies were nothing more than that, and no untoward lingering bacteria or viruses remained.

They'd also met the full crew going to Pern. In addition to the scientist Dr. Zenoh and her team made up of Joclyn Soon, Shalain Bjorsdottir, and Matthew Glenduwm, they were joined by a medic, Dr. Norman Archon, two military-trained bodyguards named Anush Rotta and Kaito Wu, and of course the diplomats. Senior Diplomat Ian Martoosh led the party, and auxiliary diplomats Bretta De Smits and Thomas Nonfort were assigned to support Martoosh, or to lead additional diplomatic efforts on Pern.

Afra liked Anush Rotta and Kaito Wu, their bodyguards, although he did not like the fact that they bore weapons, although these weapons were restricted to blades, to match Pernese technology. But they, like he and Gollee, were treated distantly by the rest of the diplomatic crew (barring Joclyn Soon), due to being less there for their knowledge and minds and more to supply brute force to things, be it the teleport or a physical confrontation, so Afra found himself talking to them more often than not during the enforced quarantine.

Anush was a short young woman of Procyon descent, with dark skin, dark eyes, and short curly black hair. She was quick to smile, although she watched events more than talked. Afra could sense she had an alert, open mind, even if she waited to speak until her words were truly needed.

Kaito Wu was Terran, of mixed Chinese and Japanese descent. He was a thoughtful man about Afra's age, although in a very fit physical condition that Afra's daily swims couldn't hope to match. "There's not much call for bodyguards specializing in blades. Well, not until now at least." A slow smile spread across his face. "To actually _see_ a feudal culture where blades are still used to settle arguments. That will be _fascinating_."

"You're not hoping to-"

Kaito laughed. "No, no! But...will they be more polite? Less polite? How will people interact with one another when each and every one bears a weapon? Until now, we've not had any cultures like that to explore, not since the advent of pre-modern technology. I'm just going to stand back and watch. Which, of course, is what I'm paid to do anyway."

"Don't let him fool you," Anush said. "He has degrees in sociology and psychology."

Kaito shrugged. "And yet I still stab people in the face if I get mad at them."

Anush rolled her eyes.

Jeff Raven was slightly irritated that the diplomats and scientists were largely giving the Talents the cold shoulder, when Afra and Gollee reported to him each day. _And who do you think is going to save them if a dragonrider becomes angry and the dragon tries to eat one of them? Who is going to detect, counter, and speak up if any invasive telepathy is used upon your party?_

_ Oh, we're used to it, aren't we Afra? They'll turn about right quick if, as you suggest, an angry dragon tries to eat them. As long as we're not restricted in talking to the Weyrs and other interested parties about Talent, which is something you already negotiated and we're authorized to do, we'll be fine._

_Humph._

_You sound like Reidinger more each day,_ Gollee said.

Afra felt himself smile as Jeff immediately dropped the cynical, sulky act.

_I absolutely do not. Now, as we go into these last few days..._

#

_Can you show me Pern after you land?_ Damia Gwyn-Raven begged in Afra's head early the day of their departure, as he folded the last of his things into a small, carry-on duffle.

_No._

_Pleeeaasseee? Just until we see a dragon?_

_No, Damia. I can't have passengers riding about in my head during the most critical stages of a diplomatic mission,_ Afra chided.

_But nobody but you and I will know!_

_So you've become an expert in the strengths and weaknesses of alien Talent, hmm?_ Afra said. _You _know_ a dragonrider could not detect you? You _know_ you wouldn't turn my attention from some detail I need to know just because you spot something else that catches our eye?_

Damia went silent.

_Be patient, Damia. Sooner or later I will be able to share things, and I promise to do so with you._

The headstrong young woman didn't say anything more, and Afra couldn't feel her presence, so he concluded that she had withdrawn. Still, he strengthened his shields, and walked over to the mirror to view his reflection. His blond hair wasn't out of place, but he ran the comb through it once again anyway. Then he 'ported it back into his bag, and adjusted the FT&T ranking pins. Pernese wore rank on their shoulders, using various devices, so Jeff Raven had decided to put both Afra and Gollee into dress blues for this, but an older style that had been used in the past where a Talent of some type-typically a telepath or a precog-had been deployed with military teams. Because of this, the fancy piping on the outfit and ranking pins were more prominent than usual. Military loved their pomp and circumstance. They hoped to portray themselves as Masters of their "Talentcraft", using the symbols on these uniforms to aid that quest.

_We aren't Primes, however,_ Afra had initially objected.

_True, but I'd argue that Primes never quite attain the same mastery of their Talent that non-Primes do. When much of it just 'comes' to you, it's easy to never work at perfecting what you have._

Gollee and Afra had shared a look of surprise, but Jeff's sentiment was genuine, and he relayed this to them in a wave of thought-emotion; he felt that due to the strength differences between them and the Primes they served, they had strove to perfect every aspect of their natural Talent as they could, and Primes just generally did not have the same drive-or the bar to look up to.

Of course, there were also non-Primes who believed that because they were not Primes they just shouldn't even try. Jeff kept _those_ Talents to non-vital positions. If he could "find" positions for them in the FT&T at all.

_You're both 'masters' of your abilities; I wouldn't be sending you otherwise._

Afra gathered up his sack, and put it over his shoulder, and left the quarters that had been his for a little more than half a month. He was joined in the hallway by Gollee, and silently they walked to the area where the diplomatic transport pod awaited them.

_Do you want our assistance with the transport?_ Gollee asked.

Afra ducked into the transport pod, and awaited Jeff's reply.

_No, thank you,_ a Jeff-Damia merge mind replied.

So _that's_ how Damia had known exactly when he was leaving; she was helping her father transport them. Afra wondered if she had made the same request of Gollee Gren. He might ask later.

As Senior Diplomat Ian Martoosh entered the transport, and sat himself down, he began to recite a list of how things were supposed to . Who was to say what, when gifts should be presented, what should happen if the Pernese did A, what should happen if the Pernese did B. Afra had heard most of it already, but listened intently, unwilling to overlook something due to his own arrogance.

Gollee Gren was assigned to assist the diplomats with dialect translation, for they knew the Pernese spoke Basic, but a heavily distorted version. He was also to assist with assessing the mood of the Pernese. He had a small radio earpiece attached to his ear, although it was disguised as an earring.

Afra was tasked with watching for threats, along with the bodyguards-part of the reason he hadn't wanted Damia hanging out in his head. He had armbands attached to his uniform that showed the characteristic on-loan-to-L.E.O. reflective strips and colors, although at this point the Pernese would not understand the significance. Afra also wore a radio disguised as an earring, as did most of the team, and a small satellite had been tossed into Pern orbit to handle the signal a few days ago.

_Are you ready?_ the Earth Tower merge asked, some minutes later.

"Earth Tower respectfully asks if we're ready for teleportation," Gollee Gren relayed. _Damn, it feels strange to be on this side of things._

Afra sent a minor shaft of amusement. Joclyn Soon glanced sideways at them.

"Tell Earth Prime that we are ready," Senior Diplomat Martoosh replied.

Gollee sent the reply, and Afra reinforced it wordlessly.

A moment later, only the slightly lighter feeling of his arms as he moved them told Afra he'd been shifted. Pern had slightly less gravity. He reached out to Damia for a moment, found that she was out of the merge, and sent, _One of the smoothest 'ports I've experienced, Prime._

Pure pride and glee came from Damia for a split instant before she shielded. _Thank you, Mr. Lyon._

"We've arrived," Gollee informed the team.

Senior Diplomat Martoosh turned on the external cameras. Afra ignored this, and scanned the area with his mind.

Many people.

Many dragons. Many firelizards too, oddly enough.

And a strong sense of expectant waiting.

There were no threats in a five klick radius, although Afra picked up fear from some of the Pernese aware that they had Talents with them. He debated for an instant on soothing them or not...and decided against it, not feeling the fear would turn into a threat just yet, and suspecting it might antagonize their hosts. "There's no overt or intentional threat within five klicks," Afra told them quietly. "Although most of the population is carrying eating knives, and most of the people we are about to meet more than that, including a few swords. Which are obvious from the screen," Afra said, nodding to what the cameras showed. "They're a little scared of us. In order to not antagonize their Talents I am not soothing it, but I don't anticipate trouble protecting us should anyone become frightened enough to offer us harm."

"Have you had anything from your contact?" the diplomat asked.

"No. I have not reached out to him, nor he to me. But," and Afra unbuckled himself and walked over to the overhead screen they viewed. "This man here is him, Masterharper Robinton," and he pointed to a thin man with silvering hair wearing blue. "He's a decent double empath, and minor receiving telepath. The pet on his shoulder is named Zair. Over here to the right is Benden Weyrwoman Lessa, rider of the gold dragon Ramoth. She's a very strong double telepath. Next to her is Benden Weyrleader F'lar, rider of the bronze dragon Mnementh. Next to him is the Fort Weyrleader N'ton, rider of bronze Lioth. Although we've mostly been dealing with the Benden Weyrleaders, and Masterharper Robinton, N'ton may be the one who speaks to us first, since they chose to have us appear in the Fort Weyr caldera-"

As Afra quickly ran down who was who-to the best of his knowledge without reading any Pernese minds-there were a few beeps as scans came back clean, both for bomb threats (as the Pernese mined, they must have explosives of some sort), and for atmospheric, chemical, and biological threats.

Well, mostly. "Expect three to seven days of negotiation time before we begin to fall sick from local bugs," Dr. Norman Archon warned. "Then we'll have a week or two of recovery time. Thankfully, due to us, we'll be able to manufacture inoculations ahead of time from our blood once we're off planet again," and he chuckled. "So we're the only ones who will have to suffer these indignities."

"Other than the Pernese," Gollee Gren said.

"Correct. Future parties will be immunized though."

"Lucky for them," someone said.

"Does anyone else have anything to say or report?" the Senior Diplomat asked.

There were a few shakes of heads, and silence.

"Very well. Let's open the hatch and meet our hosts."

#

"What is it?" Piemur asked, screwing up his face, trying fruitlessly to see better.

Next to him, Menolly and Sebell sat, and next to them the Fort Weyrsinger who was letting them all sit on the edge of his dragon's weyr.

"A box? With numbers on it?" Sebell said. "E-1-2-5 diplo?"

"You sound uncertain of that," Menolly teased.

"Well, you know, as Master Robinton's senior Journeyman, I'm getting old and decrepit. I can't see as well as I used to."

Piemur snorted.

Sebell raised an eyebrow to him. "When _I _was young, apprentices didn't make obscene noises."

"Good thing I'm not an apprentice," Piemur said to Sebell. "And that you're old. Why is it just sitting there? Can they get out? What if they're stuck in it and can't get out?"

Menolly punched Piemur in the arm. "I think they're only..." and then she paused.

Three musicians watched her.

"Afra Lyon just...touched everything. Briefly."

"What do you mean?" Sebell asked.

Menolly clasped her hands together. "I don't know how to explain. How do we sit here and look around at everything below us? We just move our eyes."

"That box doesn't block it?" Piemur asked.

"Do walls always stop you from hearing things? Does glass stop you from seeing?"

"Not if there's an opening," Sebell mused. "Or it's clear. But I don't see any windows..."

She shrugged. "All I know is that I felt it."

"Fair enough," Sebell said.

They all watched for a few more minutes. But just as they were just starting to get tired of watching, a crack appeared on one side of the box. Then, the short side facing all the dragonriders, lords, and crafters swung upwards.

All of them leaned forward to look at the strangers from the stars.

#

Lessa had known, mentally, that the Talent Afra Lyon had striking coloration. But when the large...box...the strangers had arrived in had opened, she hadn't expected him to be...

Well, for all their strange clothing, and different hairstyles, all the others looked like...people.

Not that Afra Lyon _didn't_, but he was the tallest man she'd ever seen, taller than Master Robinton or his student Sebell, taller than Master Fanderal-although nowhere as wide. His hair was short and golden, cropped like a dragonrider's, his skin distinctly green, and when his eyes scanned them from the back of his group, and then paused on her, she saw that he had eyes that were yellow like F'lar's, but a less amber yellow, more golden.

Also, he was one of the most handsome men she'd ever seen. Which seemed quite at odds given the feel of his mind. She sort of expected handsome men to be arrogant. But, perhaps that was a perception colored by living in a weyr with many extremely arrogant dragonriders!

Her eyes eventually moved over to Gollee Gren, who also looked different from what she had expected, then to the other people of the team. In fact, everyone seemed quite tall. Did people just grow bigger under different suns?

#

When Gollee Gren stepped out of the transport onto the soil of the planet Pern, he was struck by two things: dormant volcano calderas were beautiful, and he must go visiting some with his wife and daughter in the future; and the Pernese certainly weren't afraid of color. Not only were the amassed powers of this planet bedecked in every shade possible-barring green, which only showed up on the medic Oldive, and only as an accent to the white-but further away he saw ordinary people watching dressed in scarlets and yellows and blues.

And of course, the dragons themselves, lounging on the cliffs or in the caves that dotted the sides of the caldera, were gold and blue, bronze, brown, and green.

The moons were rather pretty, too.

Of course, he was not here to take in the scenery; that was Afra's job. So he focused in on the people, spotting the telepath Lessa quickly-she was smaller than the Rowan, surprisingly enough-and keeping his mind open enough to be ready to translate, if needed, should any of the others speak.

#

Today had already been a frantic day. Dragons had flown in the last few lingering Lords and Masters who hadn't arrived at Fort Weyr the previous night. The morning had been spent answering people's magically urgent questions that they could have asked sevendays ago, and then in making sure his Harpers were situated-luckily, Master Domick had seen his stress and had taken it upon himself to oversee all of the musical accommodations (although that was only a portion of Robinton's duties)-and now they were here...

He hadn't expected the long wait once the...star wagon or whatever it was...had appeared out of _between_. But, they had waited nonetheless, and then the hatch had opened...

...and they stood and _stared_ at one another. Robinton's eyes slid over to N'ton, who was supposed to welcome to Fort Weyr, and F'lar and Lessa who were supposed to welcome them to the planet, and nobody on either side said anything. So he glanced at Lord Groghe, who stood next to him and always had _something_ to say but the man glanced back at him, and stayed dumb.

Robinton had planned on staying out of things. Too many had been angry that he'd seemed smack dab in the middle of this chaos. But this silence was a bit ridiculous...

So he began to stride forward and N'ton caught his eye, so they converged on one another from differing sides of the Conclave and strode forward together, providing mutual support and backbone.

"I can't believe how reassuring it is that we can now put faces to names," Robinton announced in a carrying voice as they strode forward.

Spurred by their movement, the Nine Star League delegation stepped out of their transport, and three of them, two men and a woman-none of them Afra Lyon or Gollee Gren-began to approach Robinton and N'ton.

"As you might imagine, having a disembodied voice speaking to you is about as disconcerting as having a dragon speak to you. Although I hear you have neither thread nor dragons, so my comparison may not be the most apt. My name is Robinton, and I'm the Masterharper of the Harper Hall at Fort Hold. Beside me is Weyrleader N'ton, rider of bronze Lioth."

"My name is Ian, of the family line Martoosh. Typically my name would be said as 'Ian Martoosh'. I am a Senior Diplomat of the Nine Star League, and I am the leader of this expedition to Pern." The words were heavily accented, but understandable, to Robinton at least.

N'ton stepped forward, leaving Robinton behind, and held out his hand in a gesture to shake. The diplomat clasped his hand, and N'ton said, "Senior Diplomat Ian Martoosh, I would like to welcome you and your people to Fort Weyr. Fort Weyr is the oldest Weyr on Pern, the site of many historic moments, and I am happy to say, now the site for this one as well. It's an honor to have you and your people here today."

"The honor is ours," the diplomat said. "It is exceedingly unusual to discover a planet populated with human beings, without any record of it before now."

#

"How unusual?" Lessa asked, raising her voice and starting forward. F'lar kept pace with her. "Once a turn? Once every ten turns? Once a Pass?" She knew the books that Robinton had provided had histories of the planets in the Nine Star League, but she was curious as to how this man would answer.

"This is Weyrwoman Lessa of Benden, rider of the queen dragon Ramoth," Robinton said. "And Weyrleader F'lar of Benden Weyr, rider of bronze Mnementh."

"Never in our recorded history has an unknown but inhabited planet been found," the diplomat said. "It's a momentous occasion."

Lessa found, surprisingly enough, that she could not read his thoughts, but he seemed sincere enough. "Indeed. Master Robinton-if I understand our Diplomat here correctly...he seems to have as extensive vocabulary as yourself. Are you sure you're not long lost brothers? Or that he is not a Harper?"

"Even Harpers could not pull off a trick of this magnitude," Robinton said with a smile, although the smile was a bit crooked.

She hadn't been expecting that he was still sensitive to that idea. "I didn't mean that at all. I have met, in a ways, Afra Lyon and Gollee Gren before, of the Talents, mind to mind. Speaking of which-are the both of you going to hide back there, behind everyone else, or will you come forward and greet us?"

#

"Afra Lyon is a very pretty man," Menolly said musingly, dangling her feet over the edge of the weyr.

"What?" Piemur said.

"If you can tell from all the way up here, then I'm sure his beauty must be blinding," Sebell said.

"Oh stop that. I'm looking through my firelizards' eyes," Menolly said, in a "duh" tone of voice.

"...and I am never letting your firelizards into the bathing room with me again," Piemur said.

Sebell laughed. "But think of the turn-about with Farli!"

#

Afra Lyon was not used to disobeying Prime Talents, and when Lessa addressed him in that tone, he stepped forward and bowed deeply. Gollee also stepped forward, and bowed.

_Keeping it symmetrical,_ Gollee murmured. _And, it avoids shaking hands._

That was true, although Afra had not done it for that reason.

_Also, you have admirers. You must be the exotic one in our little group. I don't think there's a woman in eyesight of you right now who isn't admiring you._ Gollee was very amused. _And, quite a few men._

_I know_, Afra said, with a bit of exasperation. _I'm ignoring it._

_He's _ignoring_ it, he says. It must be _soooo_ hard to look that good-_

_Gollee..._

_In the light of our other phenomenally important tasks at hand, I will stop. For now._ And he ended the teasing with an evil little chuckle.

#

Lord Groghe of Fort Hold.

Lord Raid of Benden Hold.

Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold-who was also a dragonrider, the rider of white Ruth.

Former Lord-Warden of Ruatha Lytol who-well, his status was actually unclear.

Lord Larad.

...where were all the woman? Lessa and Menolly's early involvement had made things seem somewhat balanced, but it really wasn't at all, was it? Were Weyrwomen the only women with power on Pern?

Master Robinton of the Harper Hall.

Master Oldive of the Healer Hall. (What passed for medicine on Pern?)

Master Nicat of the Minecraft Hall.

Master Fanderal of the Smithcraft Hall.

The introductions went on and on. Gollee told Afra that if he kept track of the Crafters, Gollee would keep track of the Holds, they'd both keep track of the dragon and dragonrider names which were the most difficult, being contracted without knowing the original names, and they could share information via 'path.

Afra agreed.

But, finally, they finished all of the introductions and speeches people on both sides were compelled to give, and they were shown to their rooms so they could rest and refresh from their "journey".


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

_They're making history out there, right now, and Afra didn't even let me ride along!_ Damia sent to her brother Larak in frustration.

_So you're playing that dragon-slaying game in revenge?_ Larak laughed at her, catching that she was manipulating a game pad frantically as she groused to him. _Afra was probably afraid you'd start a political incident!_

_Oh, shut up._

_Losing, eh?_

_It's not fair! Not the game, I don't care about a stupid game. And I'm not losing, it's dead simple. But he and Gollee—_

_That rhymes._

_Oh be quiet! He and Gollee are among...dragons! And lords and ladies and masters—_

_Have I been cleared to hear this?_

Damia hesitated. _You've been listening. I know you have. And they're idiots if they don't know it too. Cera knows, she has to since Jeran is the one that discovered Pern, and she's not any more involved than we are!_

Larak projected a shrug.

_You won't betray me, will you?_ She asked, sending a shaft of fluffy love surrounded by singing rainbows at him.

He sent the same exaggerated affection back, peppering it with little purple hearts that floated up and popped in her mind's eye. _I can't believe they have _you_ working in Earth Tower to replace Gollee,_ he added.

_I'm doing well,_ she sent softly. _Dad said so._

_He just wants to prevent a bitch-fest between you and mom,_ Larak thought at her.

_Brat. _It was probably true, but still...She pulled away for a second to attend to a particularly strenuous mob, peppering it with rave-bright beams of sunlight until it died theatrically. _Damn, I didn't get enough XP..._

_Story of my life!_ Larak said. _Do you think thread is an old Hiver booby-trap?_ he asked.

Damia blinked. She hadn't even thought of that.

_I know you didn't._

_ SMUG little brat!_

He sent a laugh her way.

_What if it is?_ she asked. _But I didn't feel any sting-pzzt..._

_Maybe it's faded. How long have they been having thread?_ Larak asked.

_Why, I don't know,_ she said. Now, more than ever, she desperately wished Afra had agreed to let her ride along! Just so she could _learn. _Actual history lessons weren't nearly as interesting as experiencing the real thing. What had she done _wrong_, to make him take such a hard stance? Usually he'd give in _eventually_...

_Not when it's official,_ Larak disagreed. _Look. It's Afra. He has to work to break rules, and some he never will. He's not like us Ravens._

She didn't say anything to that. Afra had, very quietly, let her listen in on some official things before. If anything, Afra was true to his feline namesake, doing whatever he pleased when nobody was looking, as opposed to her noisy Raven family flapping around being a nuisance!

_Man, I'm starting to feel sorry for him! He _does_ know you're not eight anymore? And that he doesn't have to give in to you?_

_What does that mean?_ she demanded.

He shielded quickly before she could actually find out though. _Nothing._ Then he said, although she knew it was a distraction, _He only banned you from riding with _him_, right? What if you watched things...from another viewpoint?_

_Like?_

_Like, one of those firelizards. They're not human, they're not dragon either, right? But I bet like coonies or cats they'll be underfoot. Or overhead._

_I love you Larak._

_I love me too,_ he said, sounding an awful lot like dad.

_...so, do you want to come with me?_

_What, riding in a firelizard? Psh. I've been doing that for the last half-hour while you played video games._

..._You BRAT!_

_#_

From the harried demeanor of Fort Weyr's headwoman, Piemur guessed that every Lord, Lady, and Master's desire to practically replace the serving staff for tonight's meal with on-the-up Journeymen instead of the usual drudges was nothing short of a disaster waiting to happen.

"You there," she said when she spotted him. "Where are you from?"

The Harper badge was clear on his tunic, but he said politely, "The Harper Hall, ma'am."

Her tired gaze sharpened. "So I suppose you know a hundred things about spying, and nothing at all about serving food?"

Piemur gave her a grin and didn't bother trying to deny anything about spying. The whole point was to make him a suspect so the real spies could get their work done. "Well...I'm _very_ good at pouring wine."

She stared at him, and then threw back her head and laughed. "The Harper gives you practice, eh? Hmm...maybe I can work with that. Come with me. I need a competent drink-server that won't sample the wares!"

And shortly (and probably to Robinton's forthcoming delight), Piemur was sent out with two different wineskins on his belt, and a serving tray of glasses.

_Anyone need me?_ Piemur shot up at Farli, as he stepped out into the loud and packed Great Hall of the Weyr.

Farli sent the impression that Zair wasn't interested in her—to her great ire. Why _wouldn't_ every bronze in the room be interested in her? She didn't like the North. Too much competition, all of it senior to her, even Kimi. And they were all bossy. _Especially_ Beauty.

Piemur blinked, his stride hitching for a moment. Perhaps it spoke of her discomfort that it had been so easy to discern her thoughts and feelings. _Are you okay?_ he asked.

The sense he got back was more usual; jumbled flashes and gossip about the other firelizards.

Strange.

Well, he was sure he'd know it if the Harper needed him.

#

_ You have a lead foot, Damia,_ Larak said.

_She almost told him about us,_ Damia countered. _I had to do something! Sort of clever he figured she was off, though. But he doesn't _seem_ Talented..._

_Damia,_ Larak said in warning, catching a certain mischief in her touch.

_What? I don't think he'll notice at all if I watch through his eyes. I'll just be a bit more careful. _You_ stick to firelizards. I want a little context with my viewpoint!_

#

Piemur felt his gaze drawn to the high table, where their guests from the stars were seated, surrounded by the most powerful men and women on Pern. It was an effort to pull it away to resume his duties this evening. "Would you like some wine?" he asked a high-ranking Master Weaver who seemed to have already had a little too much to drink.

"I think I would," the cheerful man said, and took the glass eagerly before turning back to his companion.

Piemur's eyes returned to the high table. They all looked like regular people in funny clothes, really. Well, except for the one man, the giant with greenish skin. He was a proper star-man, in Piemur's mind. But the rest could be anybody, dressed up in fantasy clothing straight out of the oldest records. He wondered if the green coloring would wash off of the man's skin like a grass stain...and then was struck by how _rude_ that idea was.

_You haven't taken up residence in my head, have you Menolly?_ he thought, for he usually wasn't stricken by the rudeness of his very own thoughts, but although he could see her standing next to Sebell behind Master Robinton's chair, she didn't turn at all to meet his gaze. So probably not.

It was all him. Maybe he was just a bit nervous, and his thoughts running away with him. The green man was a "Talent" right? Prone to hearing thoughts, like dragons, and like Menolly and Robinton? In that light, he might as well have said it out loud. _Aw, shards, I guess that is rude then. Dragons come in green; I guess men do too, since they already come in brown and gold and bronze. Maybe the Nine Star League has blue men too, like dragons, and we just haven't seen one..._

Piemur gradually worked himself towards the High Table, straining his ears to catch a bit of talk as he did. The talk at the lower tables was mostly speculation about the higher tables, but when he finally got in earshot of Lord Larad, it seemed a lot of the talk at the High Table was incredibly mundane. The Diplomat was urged to try some fruit. A "psy-in-tist" was urged to try the wine. Master Robinton had managed to get himself seated across from the Talent Gollee Gren, and the two were speaking slowly to one another. Piemur could see that Robinton was taking a particular delight in the man's accent...which, oddly enough, didn't seem so strange to Piemur's ear. In fact, Piemur thought if he could only try it without being observed, he could pull off a perfect Terran accent.

...what was a "Terran"?

He shook his head briefly, wondering if the scent of all this alcohol was getting to him despite not having had a drop, and he served more wine, working his way to the other side of the Great Hall this time, towards the Benden Weyrleaders. They were sitting with the Green Giant—

—he felt amusement—

_Farli?_ he asked in confusion.

She sent him a feeling of faint hunger.

_There'll be plenty of scraps after the feast,_ he told her, imagining the great husks of wherries with plenty of meat still clinging to the bones. _Just be patient._

It seemed like she sighed in his head and settled down to wait. But if she hadn't been the one amused, who had been?

As Piemur moved to the other side of the room just below the high table, he saw that F'lar and Lessa were deep in discussion with the Green Giant. Piemur heard things like "FT&T" and "Earth Prime", and when he glanced at the group out of the corner of his eye, had a disconcerting view of two very different men with golden eyes talking about things that might very well change the course of his entire world.

It was a little sobering. Ha. Well, as sober as you could get in a room where the wine flowed more freely than the klah! Piemur listened as long as he could before he needed to run back to the kitchens to acquire more wineskins, and filed it all away into his mind.

Knowledge was power, and he intended to hear as much as he could tonight as humanly possible.

#

_No, you _really_ have a lead foot, Damia,_ Larak said, a bit angrily. _What if they detect us?_

_I don't know how he could...another Prime shouldn't have been able to sense me...yet..._

_He's not a Talent. How COULD he sense you, unless you were just thrashing around in there?_

_The firelizard?_ Damia said.

_Then maybe you should pick someone without a firelizard,_ Larak said sensibly._ Or do as I am, like I told you to. My little blue friend isn't going to rat on me._

_And he spends all his time thinking about that dry patch on his tail instead of getting a good look at things..._

_I do feel sorry for him,_ Larak said. _I wonder if I can oil it? That's what his memories say they do for itchy skin...I don't want to have to steal some Pernese oil though..._

Damia pulled away from Pern, and from Piemur, feeling a little guilty. But while she would have been quite content with talking to a firelizard or using its eyes at any other time, she was _not_ content to do that tonight. The little she'd seen through Piemur's eyes had been so fascinating. Except the part where he'd been thinking weird about Afra.

So (she tried to convince herself) she _had_ to ride with a human. If they were doing something they probably shouldn't to begin with, why not do things properly to make it worth the risk?

But...damn! Piemur had sensed the shifting in his mind her presence brought like even most Talents wouldn't. He was even on the right track, thinking perhaps Menolly—who Damia was carefully shielding herself from—was the cause of it.

For a dead-head, Piemur was really impressive. Even if he was probably...oh...piggybacking or something on his firelizard's abilities. Farli was sweet and linked tightly to Piemur, sort of like how Larak had been to her at the age of two—

_HEY! I'm no firelizard!_

She shielded harder and sent him a telekinetic smooch on the cheek to make up for his ruffled feelings.

And even more interesting were the things she felt just below the surface of Piemur's mind. Oh, she wouldn't pry...it was one thing to take a quick dive into her brother's mind when he had the capability to stop it if he wished, and quite another to dive into a non-Talent's mind when he wouldn't even _know_ if his deepest secrets had been betrayed, but she was beginning to wish she could _talk_ to him. He'd been recalled from an important posting to this great event—and he was actually a little younger than her! And one of the Masterharper's students! That was like, what...a famous scholar's grad student? Except he also sang, and not dippy stuff like what she heard on the net, but real music, which was _completely_ fascinating...

Damia felt a blush rise in her cheeks, and immediately applied a technique she'd learned from Afra to control it. She just thought he was interesting, that was all. It didn't _mean_ anything. But if she wanted to view what was happening on Pern, and Afra wouldn't allow her in, Piemur seemed a very good second best...

#

"I don't believe I fully understand yet the FT&T's place in the Nine Star League," Weyrwoman Lessa said to Afra Lyon, as one of the Crafters acting as servers for the meal filled his cup with steaming klah. "That is to say, I understand each part individually. But not how it all fits together. Your FT&T, or Talent Crafthall, provides logistical support for all or your worlds. I understand that; dragons often provide a similar service, shuttling delicacies or inoculations against plague depending if it's a time of celebration or sickness. I expect people on your worlds pay you dearly for such a privilege?" And here the diminutive woman arched a fine black eyebrow.

Afra could sense Weyrleader F'lar's mingled dismay and pride that Lessa was being so direct with him. He wondered if Lessa herself could sense it too, but if she did, she gave no indication of it. It seemed quite peculiar that the Weyrs were so clearly Talented, yet completely without the social niceties that kept minds apart and unaware. F'lar's shields—if he had any—were as feeble as Master Robinton's.

Afra felt like he was in a room of shouting people. Oh, in the ordinary way he certainly was. And also, he hadn't fully understood how much more impact the idle chatter of minds had when half of it was focused on how exotic he was.

But nobody else seemed to notice that above and beyond that there was a mental current of thoughts rising above the physical voices, men and women chatting to dragons, dragons and firelizards sounding with strange mental tingles he was unused to. He had experienced no such things when reaching out to Pern from light years away.

It was only the realization that everyone was truthfully completely oblivious to it made the Methody side of him not recoil in utter shock.

Afra reinforced his shields as much as he could while still monitoring the room for individuals that might want to do them harm, and answered Lessa's question. "The FT&T's capacity is certainly capped by the available Talents we have to handle everything people would have us transport. Like any limited resource, when demand for it goes up, so do prices. But we do provide humanitarian support. In times of illness or plague, as you mentioned, we would take action to transport without requiring payment. We did so in the matter of Deneb, almost twenty years ago. Our basic year is slightly longer than your turn, by a couple of days."

"What was the matter of Deneb?" the Weyrleader F'lar asked.

Jeff, Afra, and Gollee had debated with the Diplomats and even Chairwoman Ironsi over mentioning Deneb, the initial thought being that they did not wish to alarm a people who might not even have a cultural frame for anything like the Hivers. But even if Jeff himself hadn't been patiently outraged at the idea of explicitly avoiding any mention of the attack on his home world, everyone had quickly realized that if they really thought a people under regular attack by "thread" couldn't handle such a concept, they should reconsider any sort of diplomatic contact entirely.

"Deneb is a planet colonized about four generations ago by various populations of human settlers," Afra said. "It's one of the youngest colonies in the Nine Star League, and was not originally slated to have an FT&T Tower."

"Why not?" Lessa asked. "If Towers are the roads between stars?"

"It comes back to manpower," Afra said. "An interstellar Tower—that is, one that transports between stars and not just back and forth over a single planet's surface—requires a Talent that is born not only with a specific array of Talents, but also a specific strength. People with a single Talent make up less than ten percent of the total human population in the universe. People who are double telepaths, and also telekinetic, which are three different abilities, make up only a percent of that percent. People who can hear thoughts, send thoughts, lift items, and who have no readily apparent limit in the distance they can reach if given a big enough power source, are the rarest of all."

"How rare?" F'lar asked.

"There are several _billion_ people alive in the known universe. Out of all those billion, there are less than _ten_ working Primes."

"I would call that rare, yes," F'lar said with a chuckle.

"Who are they?" Lessa asked, not seeming surprised at the idea of _billions_ of people.

"There's Earth Prime Jeff Raven," Afra said. "And The Rowan, stationed on the moon Callisto in Earth's solar system. Together they handle everything going through that section of the galaxy. Capella has a Prime; she calls herself 'Capella' after the planet. Betelgeuse has a Prime. And Deneb has a Prime, Jeran Gwyn-Raven, the son of Jeff Raven and the Rowan. He's the one that discovered Pern existed. Altair used to have a Prime, but after she passed on she was replaced by a pair of T-2s, and the amount of cargo Altair Tower can process has dropped in compensation. Procyon's Prime has recently passed on, and will be replaced by Cera Gwyn-Raven. "

"So your Towers follow Blood?" Lessa asked. "Several of those Primes have the 'Raven' name."

"And the 'Gwyn' name," Afra said. "That is the Rowan's family name. Talent _does_ run in families, much like hair or eye color do. Generally speaking, two Talents having a child run a high chance of producing offspring that is also Talented with the ability of one parent, and a smaller chance of offspring that has both parents' Talents. Primes, however, are rare even in Talented families, and to date most often have popped up seemingly at random. Except in the case of the Gwyn-Raven family, which is also the first case of a Prime marrying a Prime."

"If it breeds so well, you could require Primes to have more children," F'lar suggested. "Foster them out, if necessary due to the parents' other duties."

"Ah, but that would infringe on the rights of individuals," Afra Lyon said. "In the Nine Star League, we take that very seriously."

The two Weyrleaders digested this for a while.

Then F'lar turned the conversation back to his earlier question. "Still, this doesn't address what you mentioned earlier. What happened at Deneb?"

Afra hadn't meant to digress, so he answered. "A generation ago, it was attacked by a species of non-humans. Heavy projectiles rained from the sky onto settlements. And disease, plagues were spread among the crops and people, in order to kill. It was not exactly like your thread, but many lives were lost. As Deneb didn't yet have a Tower, the Nine Star League was not aware of the attack until a Talented colonist telepathically reached across the stars to the Rowan at Callisto Tower and convinced her he was _not_ joking, and that an entire planet was under attack."

"I don't understand what you mean by projectiles," Lessa said. "I think of crossbows, arrows—how do those compare to thread?"

"Think of crossbow bolts the size of dragons," Afra suggested gently. "Exploding with fire that sticks to everything and can't be extinguished by water."

Horror appeared on both their faces, quickly masked on F'lar's, but giving way to anger on Lessa's as it seemed to touch some deep-set emotion. She was shielding, however, so Afra did not catch what she was thinking of.

Not that he would probe. But he did suddenly realize, as he hadn't when he'd first mentioned Deneb, that in a way the two planets were alike, and this might be a way to build a bridge of understanding between the Weyrs and the FT&T.

So Afra continued with a little more detail, where in another situation he might not. "Buildings as strong as stone were reduced to sand. Farmland became cratered pits. Bovines and ovines and runners died in the fields of disease. All of the medical facilities—Healer Halls—were overrun with people in dire need of help, and even there many of the doctors, the Healers, were coming down sick themselves with disease we could not cure even with our advances in Healing."

"And who," Lessa whispered, "Sent these things? You said the plagues were planted? They didn't just...happen, like firehead on the shores in spring? You said they were not human?"

"Humans are not the only intelligent species in the galaxy. We call the ones who attacked Deneb 'hivers', for their insect-like minds and appearance. They attacked Deneb because they wanted to colonize the planet themselves, and so had to remove the existing colony first." Afra paused. "One of the exciting things about dragons is that they _help_ you against thread on Pern. You, and dragons, _protect_ this world. It's very different from humanity's contact with nonhuman intelligence at Deneb."

_Dragons fly, when thread is in the sky,_ a male voice, reminiscent of F'lar's but not quite his, said to Afra.

"So what happened after this Talent from Deneb asked for help?" F'lar asked slowly.

"He was bouncing bombs away from his planet, telekinetically, as he spoke to her. We could feel it, could feel his continued effort as the only person on Deneb able to protect his entire world. And he was tired. If he slept, people would die. If he paused to rest, people would die. Once this became clear, the entire FT&T in every Tower on every planet stopped what we were doing, and we helped."

"How?" Lessa asked.

"The alien Hivers had arrived at Deneb in a ship, a spaceship. It was from there that they were waging their war on Deneb. With our telekinesis, we took ahold of the ship, all of us, all of the Primes, the T-2, the T-3s, the T-12, from the oldest Talents in the FT&T down to the twelve year old children who were just learning how to mind-merge. And we threw the spaceship into Deneb's sun."

"And that ended it?" Lessa asked. "Were there more ships?"

"There were a few more ships, and we did the same to them. Luckily, they did not seem to have any Talent with which to counter us, and once it was done, it was done and we have not encountered any further Hivers. Deneb has been rebuilding since."

"And what happened to the man?" Lessa asked. "The one who asked for help?"

"Some time later, when he was assisting with recovery and the removal of unexploded bombs, one of the projectiles he was trying to remove from the earth exploded, and he was so busy shielding others from the blast that he neglected to shield himself."

"He died?" F'lar asked.

Afra shook his head. "No. Healers were able to save him. He lived, married the Rowan of Callisto Tower, who was the first one to hear his call for aid, and went on to become the next Earth Prime. You've met him already, mind-to-mind. He's Prime Jeff Raven."

The two dragonriders looked at each other. Afra could feel their awe give way to suspicion. So he leaned forward, and opened his mind and offered a hand to each of them to touch. "May I show you?"

They hesitated. Afra could sense the other two minds that were constantly around them becoming more present. Dragon minds. And then Lessa leaned forward, and took one of Afra's hands. F'lar did the same, with the other.

And Afra inserted his own memories of the attack into their thoughts, to gently unfold like origami. He hoped the truth in it would be taken as truthfulness, and not something else.

Then he politely pulled away as they took it in and shared it with their dragons, and he gingerly tried the klah, which had been cooling in his cup. A strange taste, like coffee and chocolate and cinnamon rolled over his tongue. He rather liked it, but added some sugar to bring out the dessert-like notes a little more.

"Do you think thread is caused by Hivers?" F'lar asked eventually.

"It's hard to say," Afra said. "At such an early stage. I haven't felt _sting-pzzt_ yet." He took another sip of klah, and while he did so, he sent, _It's a sensation-taste left by Hiver artifacts that only Talents can pick up. _He sent them his memory of it, so that they would know if it they felt it._ I would have noticed it instantly if there were any large Hiver artifacts on this world. There could be smaller ones I'm unaware of. On Deneb they are still finding small fragments embedded in forests and at the bottom of lakes and even strong Talents don't always find them until they're right on top of it and can taste it. This all said, "thread" is a very peculiar phenomenon not known of on any other worlds. I would suggest speaking to our scientists, to see if they believe it's of Hiver origin, or if they think it's of native or some other origin._

"We intend to," Lessa said. "You've given us much to think about. Again!" _So you're the messenger-carriers of the Nine Star League, and the ones that assist in times of crisis. Why are you interested in Pern?_

"That's a question I would like answered myself," F'lar said to Afra, out loud. "But, Weyrwoman, his food is getting cold—"

"Ah, F'lar is right. But what if he vanishes _between_ before we get an answer?" Lessa asked her husband with a little mischief.

Husband? Afra realized he _hadn't_ realized the two leaders of Benden Weyr were also a couple. But he'd just picked up that nuance now. Bizarrely, he felt a brief twinge of jealousy. Not that he had _seriously_ been thinking—

Realizing there were layers in his reaction he needed to examine, but also realizing the place to do so was _not_ in the presence of a Prime telepath and two alien telepaths, Afra shunted the feelings aside. "I've no intention of teleporting anywhere, Weyrwoman."

"Well then I suppose F'lar is right. I should let you have a few bites of this meal! Is the food very different here? If we have differences between a meal cooked at Benden and one at Fort, surely we must seem quite exotic."

Afra let her steer the conversation away from serious matters, and gestured at a fruit near his plate. "I'm afraid I don't know what that is," he said.

"That's a redfruit. You don't have redfruit? Nor klah?"

"Klah is similar to our tea and coffee, but different," Afra said. "It tastes a little like chocolate or cinnamon."

"What are those?" F'lar asked.

He explained, and then Lessa told him what some of the other items on his plate were.

"These are rivergrains."

"We call it 'rice'."

She looked surprised. "You have rivergrain—rice. Rice is a much shorter word!—on Terra?"

Afra nodded. "Most colonies take a variety of food crops from Earth, depending on what can be grown in the soil of the planets they are colonizing. Wine, rivergrains or rice, potatoes...I believe the server called them tubers? We call them potatoes, informally. But formally in scientific jargon, we would call them a type of tuber as well." Afra glanced over towards where the scientists sat, talking to various Craftmasters. He did not wish to infringe on their territory too much. His classes in biology had been many years ago.

"You have two types of names for everything?" F'lar asked.

"In a way," Afra said. "Have you ever had a moment where you used a word for something, but the person you were talking to defined it a bit differently, but neither of you realized this until your meaning was already jumbled?"

And from there, they talked a bit about the differences they'd heard so far between Terran Basic and the Pernese dialect of it, and worked their way through the meal.

#

_I followed your lead with Master Robinton and Weyrleader N'ton,_ Gollee Gren said much later as the Senior Diplomat Ian Martoosh and Weyrleader N'ton rose and were saying pretty things to one another to conclude the meal.

_Oh?_ Afra sent.

_Deneb's plight resounded deeply with N'ton, much like it did with the Benden Weyrleaders. It also troubled Master Robinton. Did you know they've had a war within the last twenty years?_

_A war?_ Afra asked in surprise.

_They don't use that term exactly. They don't _have_ a term for it. But there was a rogue Lord who went about annexing other castles. Or holds, as they call it. Men were drafted to fight under this rogue Lord, and people died to his attacks. I would say that is a war. Master Robinton was a part of it._

_How?_

_I don't know,_ Gollee admitted. _His shields come and go—_

Afra felt disapproval.

_You know very well I did not probe. I only caught what got past his shields—and what he didn't immediately squash. We'll have no problem teaching him how to use that receiving telepathy of his. But, anyway, he was a part of it. When I spoke of the Hivers, I got a sense from him that he didn't want to be defending against an an enemy like that again._

_Luckily, to our current knowledge, Pern is under no Hiver threat,_ Afra said.

_Luckily. But Afra, I think they're a militarized culture in some ways. Perhaps in ways we don't expect._

Afra didn't say anything. His initial feeling had been that Pern was as militarized as he himself was. He _had_ assisted in the defeat of the Hivers. He was not ashamed to have done so, for people had been dying, and something had to be done. But a part of him deeply regretted that it had come to that. That they hadn't found a way to _talk_ to the Hivers. It was part of the reason the dragons were so interesting; like Hivers, they had queens. Unlike Hivers, they worked with humans, instead of against them. Why?

_You think it rises from more than just a need to fight thread?_ Afra said eventually. _This militarization?_

_You don't fight thread with swords, Afra. You do fight _people_ with them._

Well, they had already known swords were in use. Guns still existed on other colony planets, despite there having been no wars for hundreds of years. And, looking around, Afra could see how men of a particular sort—Weyrleader F'lar included—wore swords at their hips. Functional, used swords, not jewelry pieces studded with gems or gold. _Neither you nor I have anything to fear from a sword._

_I know that, Afra. But before now, it's never been a Talent of any sort on the wielding end of a sword. We expunged any idea of that in the very first days of the parapsychic centers. "Armed Talents" are a disastrously aggressive notion we can't have any media outlet thinking up and running away with. It worries me._

Beyond the word choice Gollee used, Afra felt the emotion itself. Gollee _was_ worried. For many reasons, some of which Afra didn't even disagree with.

_That is why I believe we must teach them,_ Afra said.

_...and what will we do, once we've taught them, and another rogue, warlike Lord rises up and uses that knowledge against us?_

_The same, I suppose, that we do when we have a problem in the FT&T. And in that, you have had more experience than I._ Gollee had been deeply involved in training for the past ten years, in addition to his twic duties, and in a couple of cases had to deal with _severely_ disappointed Talents who were not suitable for employment due to personality or temperament. Afra, on his moon and it's nearly unchanging population, had never had a serious incident in that area, not like the ones Gollee dealt with.

_Pern isn't a part of the Nine Star League. The FT&T doesn't have jurisdiction here. Not yet, at least._

Looking around the room, Afra tentatively lowered his shields and sampled the tenor of it. _They want our technology, Gollee. The Weyrs hope we can fix thread for them, like we fixed the situation at Deneb. I'm not sure I want to contemplate how serious an issue would have to be to cause them to not adopt some form of a colonial charter in exchange for those trades._

_...we've barely had dinner. Aren't you jumping the gun, assuming they want to be part of the Nine Star League?_

_I've studied history. What usually happens when a very advanced culture meets one that is less so?_

_I would hope that others have read history too, and learned from it. We don't _have_ to crush a culture upon meeting it. I know that is certainly not our intent now._

Afra sent Gollee a complex emotion, shot through with uncertainty about how much humans had or hadn't "evolved". Then he reinforced the idea that they _must_ teach, else Gollee's fears might come true.

_Chicken and the egg, I know,_ Gollee sent. _Well, we have our discussion with Jeff this evening cut out for us._

Sending silvery assent, Afra said, _Since you're closer, can you arrange with the Diplomat to have the Weyrs meet with us for tomorrow morning?_

_ Yes. I've already been making overtures that way. Makes it easier for them too, to have the Diplomats speak to the Lords, and the Scientists speak to the Crafters, and us the Weyrs._

_Thank you. And I think this is starting to wind down._

_ I think you're right. Damn, for sitting on my ass for a few hours and talking, I'm really exhausted._

_It's the noise,_ Afra said. _We may need to ask Jeff for auxiliary dampeners._

_No, no. I'll ask my _wife_. If anyone knows the best brands of telepathic dampeners, it's her. _Afra felt Gollee suddenly pull their private band in much tighter. _They're louder than telepathic toddlers, and that's saying something given what being on the wrong side of a FT&T crèche room feels like._

Afra let a brief smile turn his mouth up. _You're horrible, Gren._

_And you're too polite. All right, looks like we're filing out now. I wonder what a Pernese toilet is like?_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Afra?_ Gollee Gren said with a timid touch.

_Are you all right?_ Afra immediately reached out in alarm to see where Gollee was, but Gollee was blocking him.

_I don't know, Afra. I don't see anything at all in here that properly resembles toilet paper...what if I wipe my butt on something I shouldn't and cause a diplomatic incident?_

Before Afra could formulate a reply, a new voice spoke. _Now, I _absolutely_ know I sent the two best men for this task when I reach out and find Gollee is trolling Afra with toilet jokes,_ Jeff Raven drawled in amusement.

Realizing that Jeff was right and Gollee was pulling his leg, Afra said blandly, _It's not my fault Gollee can't vacate himself _between_ like a proper dragon. Gollee, just 'port it into space like the firelizards...weren't you the one to teach me "When on Earth, do as the Earthlings do"?_

_Terrans, Afra. We're called Terrans._ Gollee sighed in their minds theatrically.

Jeff promptly vanished.

_Afra,_ Gollee said into the void Earth Prime left behind. _For all the shit and shenanigans I get up to, you always manage to one-up me. How do you even _know_ where firelizards poo, and what do you want to bet that Jeff's falling out of his chair laughing right now because _somehow_ you _knew_ this fact?_

_I thought your problem Gollee was that you couldn't take a shit, much less a shenanigan, _Jeff said, returning as if nothing had happened.

_Well, Jeff, I didn't think to pack the toilet paper, but since you're clearly aware of my problem here, could you 'port me over—ow! Did it have to be in the head?_

_A toilet paper to the head never hurt anyone,_ Jeff said.

Afra rubbed a hand down his face. It was, mysteriously, still serene and blank. Sometimes he surprised himself with his own control. Although in this case, warring dismay and amusement likely helped since his face didn't need to actually assume an expression until he finally decided which emotion he was feeling more.

"Everything okay with you, Talent?" the senior diplomat asked from across the table.

Or perhaps his control was not as vaunted as he thought it was, before a diplomat's eye. "Everything's fine, Diplomat. We will be speaking to Earth Prime soon. Is there anything you wish me to convey?"

_Tell him we need more toilet paper,_ Gollee said.

_Oh-ho,_ Jeff said. _Did you just say you need _more?!

_No! Oh no, please no, what you sent was enough, thank you Prime, thank you Mr. Raven, thank—aurgh!_

"Or anything to teleport?" Afra added, valiantly trying to shield the back-chatter out.

"Not at the moment, Mr. Lyon. But we'll have a formal report to convey to Ironsi before your follow-up with Earth Prime tomorrow. How did your talks with the Weyrleaders of Benden go?"

"They went well," Afra said.

A small smile appeared on the diplomat's face. They both knew Afra wasn't saying anything just yet.

"But Earth Prime is here now. Do you mind if Mr. Gren and I take the room over there? Our meeting with Earth Prime will last an hour or two."

"Go ahead."

So Afra moved himself out of the main meeting room—with its strange stone table and stone chairs, lit only by baskets of some sort of glowing fungi—off to a smaller one.

Mimicking the actions he'd seen the people who had shown them around briefly, Afra felt the wall and opened a little door in a metal container so that this room's little pot of fungus glowed. He had expected candles for light, but this alien bioluminescence was much brighter than expected, and in these windowless interior rooms, probably much friendlier to the air quality than open flame. Then he made his way over to a wicker sofa, covered in handmade cushions and handmade textiles fine enough to beggar an ordinary Nine Star Leagues man. Afra had in his lifetime _maybe_ seen one or two examples as fine in the Rowan's quarters, but she certainly hadn't been using them to sit on. They had been framed and on the walls.

_We're waiting on you, Gollee,_ Jeff said once Afra had seated himself.

_I'm listening,_ Gollee said promptly.

_You might be, but I'm not talking to you while you're defecating._

_I suppose that's fair enough, but I'm not doing that actually. I'm using something I truly, dearly hope is a urinal. It's a trough, sitting on the floor, with water flowing in one end and out the other. That seems like one to you, right? And if it's not actually a urinal, Afra will you please, please draw up really nice and curly calligraphy apologizing on my behalf for it?_

_I offered to teach you calligraphy twenty years ago, and you turned me down. That wasn't such a smart move, was it?_ Afra said.

"How was I to know it would ever be relevant?" Gollee asked, a moment after 'porting directly into the room. "I'm no precog! God, I hope that was the right place to pee..."

_Sit!_ Earth Prime commanded. There was beginning to be a bit of ire at Gren's continued irrelevant commentary.

Gollee immediately sat and shut up.

_First off—how are the two of you? Are you well?_ And Afra could feel the light touch of the man against his shields, gently probing.

Afra hadn't expected such a sentiment from Jeff, and he wondered if the Rowan was merged with him. _I suspect when Gollee's jokes stop prior to a direct command from you, that will be the time to worry,_ Afra said. _We're both fine. Would you like to report first, Gren?_

_Why don't you, Lyon, since I followed your lead,_ the other talent replied.

So Afra told Jeff about his conversations with the Benden Weyrleaders, and how he'd tried to make comparisons between Jeff's own actions on his home planet, and the position of the Weyr to Pern. One he had done so, he followed it with: _They want to end thread, Prime. They're hoping we might know how, although they've not vocalized it to me yet._

_Did you promise—_

_I promised nothing explicitly. I'm not under the impression that thread will devour all of their fields tomorrow. Being a dragonrider is like being emergency workers in zones prone to regular disasters; the risks are known and controlled as much as they can be. I didn't promise anything, but is it inaccurate to say if Pern _did_ experience a devastating event tomorrow, that we would help if we could?_

_No, that's not inaccurate at all. I would come over there myself and do it if I knew how. However, with dragonriders present fulfilling many areas that the FT&T does on our worlds—we know they're even more self-sufficient than most of our colony planets are._

_Yes,_ Afra said._ I think any additional disaster where they might ask us for help would be one so great that any human would be appalled by it. So we would be there anyway._

_I suppose. As long as we don't promise anything unusual to them, yet. But it's fair to say we would help in such circumstances._

Afra smiled. _I realize Callisto is somewhat insular, but the thinking half of my mind hasn't atrophied _that_ much from disuse, Prime._

_Never thought that for a second, Mr. Lyon. _But Jeff sent an apology anyway. Then he moved on. _Mr. Gren?_

Gollee relayed the contents of his conversations with Weyrleader N'ton and Masterharper Robinton. _N'ton, like the Benden Weyrleaders, longs to see the end of thread. He doesn't like strangers being involved, but if we had a way to end it like the Hiver threat was ended at Deneb, he would jump at it. Did you know that one of those dragonriders teleported without a spacesuit to the surface of that rogue planet?_

Afra felt Jeff's shock as sharply as his own.

_What?!_

_And he lived! As did his dragon. His name is F'nor, and he's Weyrleader F'lar's half-brother._

_Talk to him! _ Jeff commanded.

_Yes, I intend to,_ Gollee said. _He's a special type of nuts. I like it._

"Is he crippled?" Afra asked Gollee in an aside.

"I didn't get that impression, no," Gollee said. "Which suggests telekinesis might have been used at some point to preserve their lives. It's exactly the sort of scenario where such Talent would emerge."

Afra nodded. He was curious whether it was telekinesis from the dragon or rider, though. _Tell him about Master Robinton,_ Afra sent.

_What about him?_ Jeff asked Gollee.

_Well, when I told N'ton about the Hivers, I got some feedback from Robinton. He actually has a much better shield these days, but it's erratic and flips up and down._

_That's common for a beginner,_ Jeff said.

_It is. I still don't know what to make about the PR side of him, but he'll make a decent enough Talent for his rating once he's trained if he can still learn this quickly at his age. Anyhow. One of the things I picked up when his shields were in flux was the sense that he dreaded another war. Except he had no word for "war". That is, they use the term in some contexts, but like many of their words it's slightly off. Jeff, I don't know if you've ever felt the concept of war from a mind that doesn't quite have a word for it, but it's terrible. You almost have to truly understand the concept before you start hunting for a way to convey it, and he understands it. And the only way he could dread it is if he'd experienced it. So I unshielded and did some listening—_

_ —by the way,_ Afra interjected. _The Pernese are very Talented, but entirely untrained. It's very loud here. You don't realize how loud until you are in the same room with them._

_Yes, Afra is spot on. We're going to NEED quarters shielding. We can probably make it through a night or two, but by day three if we can't turn the insides of our quarters into tin cans to keep the chatter out, we're going to go nuts. All the dragonriders, dragons, and firelizards are constantly talking._

_They don't seem to hear anyone else but who they are talking to, either,_ Afra said.

_Interesting,_ Jeff said. _I'll speak to your wife, Gollee, and get some toddler shielding for you two. She's been evaluating a new supplier._

Gollee sent his thanks. _Anyway—hey, you know, we've finally trained some rudeness into you, Afra!_

_ I apologize for interrupting earlier_, Afra said quickly. _It's just that—_

_That faire of firelizards went by down the hall, babbling and reminded you. Did you hear it, Jeff?_

_I did, and I wasn't sure why you were backfiring it to me..._

_We weren't, not intentionally! This psychic chatter is going to get old, quickly. Population counts are way below what's on Earth. However, if the little population that's already here shouts all their thoughts all the time they're going to make up for it. Anyway, I unshielded a bit after I picked up those half-thoughts about war from the Harper. From the bits and pieces I picked up, there's a Lord Jaxom who is still a Lord Holder, and he's actually the son of this warlord who tried to conquer half of Pern. There's also a Lord Meron, who used to report to Lord Jaxom's father._

Afra hadn't known this. It brought a new dimension to the worries about militarization, if not one but two major Holds had some connection to this past conqueror. _The Weyrwoman was perturbed at the idea of Deneb being attacked; I wonder if she was also involved in this past war?_

_The Weyrwoman Lessa?_

_Yes, my apologies. That's how the Pernese refer to her. "A" Weyrwoman could be any queen rider. "The" Weyrwoman is Lessa, specifically._

_They do that to the Harper, too, _Jeff mused_. "A" Harper is a craftsman. "The" Harper is Master Robinton, and only him._ Then he returned to the topic. _You two think the Pernese are war-like?_

_There are aspects that concern me, _Gollee confirmed as Afra vacillated_. A certain military discipline makes sense, given the constant threat of thread. But I don't see how _swords_ would do anything against thread. Afra makes the counter-argument that we still have guns, despite having no land-wars or space wars—aside from defeating the Hivers—for centuries._

_ You can kill food animals with guns,_ Jeff said. _We hunt a lot on Deneb. Do the Pernese hunt with swords?_

_I don't know,_ Afra said. _Historically on Earth you would not. From that perspective the argument does look weak. _Afra paused. _People live in Holds to have shelter from thread. I wonder what happens to people who are exiled from holds? What happens to criminals? Perhaps swords play into the culture in that manner. Are there armed bandits?_

_You may be onto something there, Afra. Please see if you can discreetly look into it. This may be important to the safety of your group if either of you are pulled away or not around._

_Of course,_ Afra said. _We'll mention it to the guards as well, although I would not be surprised if they were already asking these questions themselves._

_We might be able to get answers quicker though,_ Gollee said. _I don't know that a Pernese swordsman would readily divulge his skills to the guards of a foreign diplomat._

They felt a nod from Jeff. _And is there anything else to report?_

_Not yet,_ Afra said. _I expect we'll have more for you tomorrow. Prime, may I have your permission to push forward with training, should I see a chance?_

There was a silence. Then Jeff said, _With whom?_

_Anyone. Everyone. But if I must start with one or two, Weyrwoman Lessa and Masterharper Robinton. And Weyrleader F'lar. And his brother, F'nor. I suppose that's four. Journeywoman Menolly is another possible recruit even though I have not yet met her in person, and she may take better to our philosophical conditioning as she's still quite young._

When Earth Prime said nothing, Gollee stepped in and said, _Jeff, I have the hesitations you do, but on the other hand I've already seen vast improvements in Masterharper Robinton since he's had exposure to us, and we know Weyrwoman Lessa spanned stars with her untrained mind once she knew we were here. The more I think on it, the more I am also starting to get nervous at the idea of our presence catalyzing their Talents while we sit silent. If we do not convey that the FT&T and its Talents are used for certain things only, instill that culture into them, and there are consequences if they misuse Talent, we may have a problem whether we teach the skill side of things immediately or hold off and assess._ Gollee paused. _But the swords concern me, too, if we teach and they learn but still disregard our philosophy. Unless we plan to take...other measures to instill it._

Earth Prime was silent again, and Afra hid his nervousness away before anyone could sense it. If Jeff said no to training...he wasn't sure he would obey. These people _needed_ to be trained.

Then, _You feel that strongly?_ the Rowan whispered in his mind.

_I _thought_ you were there,_ Afra said to her, their minds falling in tune with one another. _And yes._ He sent her a wordless bundle of thoughts and feelings, suspicions and emotions.

_Hold on a moment,_ Rowan said after absorbing it, and vanished from Afra's mind.

Then, a while later, Earth Prime said, _If you train anyone, I will know who it is, what their Talents are, why you've chosen them out of all the Talents you say you hear yelling at one another, and how it will benefit the FT&T. And take care not to set any internal Pernese factions that may be present off against one another._

_Yes, sir,_ Afra said. Then he sent a tight shaft of appreciation to the Rowan, for she'd obviously worked her magic for him.

_If that's settled,_ Gollee said. _I think that's all we have for you by now._

_Very well. I'll relay what needs to be relayed to the Chairwoman. Tomorrow I expect us to have a short 'port of documents back and forth at 07:00 your time._

They sent their assent.

_Do we have a Pern clock yet?_ Gollee asked Afra.

"I'll sync my pad with yours. I put in an algorithm for Pernese time yesterday. Their day's a bit shorter than a standard day."

Gollee nodded. "Time flies when you're on Pern."

"Don't you dare strap a watch to a dragon," Afra said. "Or a firelizard!"

Gollee laughed.

_Don't deny it. I saw that image in your mind!_ Afra said.

_What was that?_ Jeff asked.

Gollee stepped in. _Nothing, nothing. We'll be there at 07:00. Good night, Earth Prime_.

_Humph, _Jeff said.

_Good night,_ Afra said. And, _Good night, Rowan._

_Good night,_ she returned, and left a telekinetic sisterly peck on his cheek. _The Tower's not the same without you. Although I am giving Cera and your nephew—did you know Jeff summoned your nephew here?—both a good try. I promise I am! Don't get yourself into trouble._

_Nor you,_ Afra sent.

_Much less opportunity to do so here,_ Rowan said. _But I shall not._

"Now," Gollee said once the minds of distant Talents faded away. "I hope the beds are easier to figure out than the toilets."

#

"LARAK!" Damia shouted at the top of her lungs.

"Whaaat?" came the annoyed reply.

"Did you steal my last roll of toilet paper?"

"No."

"Yes you did."

"No, I _didn't._" _Stop blaming me for shits I didn't do._

_Sorry, darling...that was me,_ Dad said.

_Can I have it back?_ Damia asked plaintively.

_No, I used it all._

_Are you _sure_ I can't have it back? It was a whole roll, you couldn't have used it all. It was just here this morning._

_You really don't want to know what I did with it._

_Yes, I do._

_Even if you do, it's classified._

_Liar!_ Dad was a bald-faced _liar_. How _could_ it be classified?_ It's not even made from real trees these days..._

But Dad merely laughed, and didn't go into specifics, so Damia grumbled and fumbled with the toilet's control pad to change the toilet settings until it wasn't necessary.

#

"Lytol," Robinton said late that evening when nearly all the Weyr was abed except them two. It seemed it had taken until now for the buzzing thoughts in his head to dim. "Have you made a decision yet?"

Lytol gave him a sideways look across the table they shared. "They only just arrived, Robinton. There's no rush."

"The Talents are speaking to the Weyrleaders tomorrow morning after breakfast. I've been invited as well. You should come too. Particularly if you become our first Mastertalent."

"I am _not_ calling myself that. I know my limitations. Just because I can...because I can _hear_ things when Lessa gets in my face, or you touch my shoulder, doesn't mean I'm the one you want, and it _certainly_ doesn't mean I'm anything close to a Craftmaster in it. If you're so eager to build a new Crafthall on Toric's doorstep in Southern, why don't _you_ head it? You're the one _they_ went to first, anyway. And you've had that Journeyman of yours running about down there."

Robinton didn't confirm or deny it. "I have a Hall to run," Robinton said instead.

"And you have a successor to take over the Hall if necessary. Menolly or Sebell, correct?"

"They haven't formally attained Mastery yet. And neither is yet ready for such a responsibility."

"Jaxom was, and he's younger than your girl. And much younger than that Sebell of yours." Lytol gave Robinton a strange little smile, then threw back some of his drink.

"Holds and Halls are very different, and you know that. Perhaps in another ten turns or so—"

Lytol gave him an astonished look. "Ten turns?! Do you think we're aging in reverse now, or something?"

"I became Masterharper at the age Sebell is presently, and it's not a fate I would ever wish on anyone," Robinton said. "_Nobody_ respects a young Craftmaster. And when I say nobody, I mean _nobody_, not even the Masters that voted you in. They see you as a way to get rid of inconvenient paperwork that would otherwise fall on them. It could set the Harper Hall back decades if it happens again."

"You—" Lytol blinked at Robinton. "I do know my history and my head tells me that yes, you've been Masterharper that long, but I feel like it's only been since the Pass started. No offense meant, Robinton. But you were _very_ quiet before F'lar stuck a blade in Fax and ended him."

"Well," Robinton said, and sighed. "I knew Fax as a youth when I was stationed at High Reaches. And when I became Masterharper, Fax was already wary of me, perhaps not for any show of physical strength, but certainly in any show of mind, and spent considerable resources from day one diminishing my efforts, after his multiple attempts to assassinate me failed. I had my hands full."

Having mentioned the Fax, Robinton felt his expression change as his thoughts returned to what Master Gollee had said earlier, about a different type of threat from the skies that had battered Deneb. Lytol had not been in earshot; he'd been arbitrating between various Lords and the diplomats during the meal. "If you really don't wish to attend tomorrow's meeting with the Talents, I can't make you—"

"—it's not that, I just don't want to be tagged as 'Mastertalent' the moment I walk in that door! To be generous, the least they could do is laugh at me!"

"—fair enough. But let me tell you why I'd like you to hear whatever they have to say. During the meal, Master Gollee told us a bit about how Earth Prime came to be Earth Prime—"

#

"Master?" Menolly asked first thing the next morning.

The angular lump under the furs didn't stir at first, although Zair, curled at the small of Robinton's back, did, yawning fit to split his head apart while he stretched his bronze wings out to their fullest. _Food?_ the firelizard queried, less in words and more in hunger.

_Soon,_ she told him. _If I can get your lazy Master out of bed!_

"I heard that," came a sleepy voice from under the furs.

She reached down and touched his foot, which hung over the end of the bed, and sent a little bit of fondness to him in apology.

"Oh, I'm still so exhausted, Menolly. Can't I just stay here and sleep? Everything's still so peaceful..."

"I know you're tired, Robinton, and if I had my choice I'd let you sleep all you wanted while it's quiet. But we're to meet with the Talents today."

Robinton turned over onto his back with his arm over his eyes, and Zair scurried out of the way as to not get squished. "Ah, yes. The Talents meet with the Weyrs, and we're graciously allowed along. I was hoping we could utilize Lytol as a neutral party between Weyr Talented and those of us not in the Weyr, but he's not quite on board with the idea yet. This should be an interesting morning, my dear." And he yawned nearly as hugely as Zair had without covering his mouth, giving Menolly an interesting view of his tonsils. _Ah, sorry. There are some things one shouldn't see in the morning, my tonsils being one of them. I do want to see some food, however, as does Zair._

"I could bring a plate up to you, but there's a breakfast being served downstairs for everyone. Including the firelizards."

"Has it already begun? Perhaps I could catch one of the Talents beforehand—" and all thoughts of sleep clearly banished, Robinton sat up abruptly, startling Zair into a quick flight across the room. Beauty chattered a laugh at him from Menolly's shoulder.

"It's well underway. You'll have to move quick just to grab a bite and be at the meeting on time."

"Humph," he said, and eyed her. "You let me sleep."

"You went to bed rather late, Master," and she let the faintest tinge of chiding come through in her tone.

"I did. Although if _you_ noticed that, it was not just me who did. Is it just me or is everything in this Weyr so _loud_?"

"It's not just you. I've been doing this shielding thing constantly."

"How do the dragonriders stand it?"

"You know," Menolly said pensively. "I almost think they don't hear it."

Robinton frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't know. Perhaps we could ask Lessa. Or one of the Talents."

"Perhaps," he said, and began to rise.

Menolly offered him a robe, and as he tiredly shuffled into the bathing room, began to pull together some items for them to take to the meeting this morning.

#

_And here we have the packet, Prime,_ the voice of Gollee Gren said from some distance away.

Afra shifted in his bed, one long leg slipping off to hang off the side in the chill air. Quickly he pulled it in again, moving around to find a position where it was not crammed against the footboard of the bed. But cold feet and cramped legs were decidedly _not_ a part of his daily routine in the climate-controlled Callisto Tower, and Afra felt his eyes pop open.

Where was he? Underneath him, strange rush-filled and down-filled mattresses crinkled, and the room about him was pitch-black, not a single sliver of light from any source, not even the tiniest wan eye of some electronic device. The room had no windows. Around him, minds, human and non-human alike, were stirring with a sun that Afra could not see.

And Gollee...Gollee was already speaking to Earth Prime.

It must be past seven hundred hours!

With a quickly suppressed oath, Afra sat upright and opened all the glow-pots in his quarters at once...something that was decidedly _not_ a good idea when his eyes watered from the sudden change from pitch dark to bright.

Something agreed that the room was too bright as Afra threw back the covers and shifted his long legs over the side of the bed to the floor, and a moment later a cat and a small green firelizard emerged from under his bed, blinking.

The cat stretched lazily, showing dainty fangs, brushed lightly against his ankles like a piece of windborne fuzz, then sauntered out of the bedroom into the front chamber.

The firelizard, on the other hand, cautiously opened both sets of eyelids after a moment, then flapped noisily up to the bed to examine Afra.

_Who are you?_ he asked in surprise, as a small hand—extraordinarily human-like with four fingers and a thumb—planted itself on his thigh.

_AuntieAuntie _the creature echoed to him in a strange woman's voice, and Afra was reminded of the contact he'd had some time ago with Masterharper Robinton's Zair.

_May I touch you?_ he asked, lifting a hand up to do so but hesitating. It wasn't in him to caress a creature that could talk without waiting for permission.

A delighted assent burst forth from the green, and Afra found himself fielding a flurry of mental images and sensations of where all the best spots to be touched were. Afra chuckled, and obliged.

Firelizard skin was softer and tougher than he'd imagined, and Afra echoed his own delight at the touch back at the firelizard, which only encouraged her to beg for more. A few moments later the green swarmed into his lap, then crawled up his chest to perch on his shoulder, steadying herself with a fist-full of his blond hair and a few flaps of her wings. He had to catch one of those wings to prevent it from poking his eye out, but once she had attained his shoulder, she lowered her head for more caresses, and snaked a tail about his neck.

Afra coughed lightly, and tugged until she was not quite choking him. "Are you to be my guide today?" he asked her jokingly, still scratching her eyeridges and down her neck.

She sent him a slew of visualizations of beaches—all of them so clear that, if he wanted to, he could use them as a way to teleport to each destination. If he didn't mind arriving twenty feet up in the air. Taking any sort of teleportation destination from a firelizard would clearly involve levitation.

_Between?_ she asked. _Go between?_

"Oh, I generally don't do that in front of people, particularly ones that can't do it themselves. Among Talents, it can be considered rude."

The little green didn't quite take his meaning, and she puzzled it out as he examined her neat little hands again, and her feet which were much less primate-like.

_Lyon's not in the merge with you, is he?_ Earth Prime asked distantly, his voice becoming audible again.

_Prime,_ Gollee said. _We really need those shields. He got less sleep than I did! I thought it best to leave him to it—_

"I'm late," Afra blurted to the green firelizard, the overheard 'path bringing him back to reality. _Earth Prime, my apologies!_ he sent, rising to his feet as the little green flapped wildly for balance before surveying her new, much higher, standpoint with interest. _I thought I'd set the alarm—I will be there momentarily._

_Who's the woman in there with you?_ Gollee said casually.

_Woma—_ He stopped that thought before it could complete. Gollee and his jokes. _You mean this firelizard? She just showed up._

Gollee gave him an evil little chuckle. _I must have her twin,_ and Gollee flashed Afra an image of an identical-looking firelizard. _This is Auntie._

Afra dug through his luggage telekinetically, as he washed his face at the wash-basin in the room. Then he 'ported himself out of the shorts he'd worn to sleep, and into a fresh outfit. _This is Auntie, too, _he sent.

_Just like old days, eh?_ Gollee said.

_Huh? Twin aunties in your quarters?_ Jeff asked, catching some of it.

Afra instantly felt mortified but tried to stifle it. Gollee flooded them with his amusement.

Jeff sighed. _Don't answer that. I officially practice a policy of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Hear." Mister Lyon, no rush. I'll have the order for shielding moved to highest priority, and 'port it over before the end of your day. You can't be held accountable for being late if you if you have trouble sleeping due to psychic interference._

Afra disagreed on this, he had several mental tricks he hadn't used to do the job which he _could_ have utilized, but didn't let the thought get to the Prime because he didn't wish to be argumentative. Instead he sent, _I'm already on my way._ And he swiped a comb through his hair, and then 'ported to Gollee's location.

Auntie Two chirruped in shock, and twisted her head all around when they arrived as if she didn't know what had happened to them. Afra tried to soothe her, but she had none of it, and dropped off of Afra's shoulder only to vanish before hitting the ground.

Gollee's version did the same. "They must be the love-em-and-leave-em type," he said. "Clever little creatures though, aren't they?"

"Mercurial," Afra replied. "She was upset at the teleportation—so she teleported away!"

_Report,_ Earth Prime said.

_On the firelizards?_ Afra asked.

_Since you've both clearly just had encounters, yes. What are your impressions?_

So Afra finished off the meeting he'd just been tardy to with a full accounting on his brief few minutes with the firelizard. _My first encounter with the alien species, Prime, involved lots of cuddling..._

#

"Lords, Ladies, and Masters," Gollee Gren said a couple of hours later, once Afra had managed a proper wash, they'd both been able to eat, and the Weyrleaders of Pern—plus a few extras—were seated in one of Fort Weyr's meeting room. "Good morning! And thank you for agreeing to meet with us so early in the day. Afra Lyon and I spoke to some of you last evening, but not nearly as many of you as we wished to, so I'm glad we're getting a chance today to rectify that."

Initially Gollee had wanted Afra to lead this meeting, as Afra was the stronger Talent and ranked Gren slightly having been at a higher position in the FT&T for a longer period of time, and the Pernese seemed very sensitive to rank, but Afra had demurred, citing the reaction to his looks yesterday. He didn't think it wise to make the FT&T any more exotic than it was by being the one to lead the meeting. He didn't want anyone to associate Talent with green skin and golden eyes.

_You were never quite this cruel in rubbing in my average looks when we were younger,_ Gollee said teasingly. _Fine, we'll mute the spectacle a bit by not having Mr. Strangely Beautiful start it off. _"But before we go on—can everyone in this room understand my accent?"

"It's a bit peculiar," an older Weyrleader with red hair liberally sprinkled with white said. His name was D'ram, Afra recalled. "I understand you though."

"I understand you," Master Robinton said.

"You don't count, sir," Gollee said, waggling a finger. "We've spoken before, last night and also mind-to-mind before we arrived in person."

"Yes, but I daresay I can assist in translating if needed," Robinton said to Afra's great surprise in a Terran accent he must have already picked up from Gren.

F'lar stirred on the other side of the room. "Now we don't understand _you_, Harper," he said to a few chuckles.

"Has anyone ever, my dear Weyrleader? Has anyone _ever?"_

Afra felt himself smile slightly. The feel of the room was starting to shade from slightly suspicious to more amused and open, and they had Master Robinton to thank. _Amazing what a good empath can do,_ Afra sent privately to Gollee.

_I'll eat my boots if he hasn't been unconsciously manipulating the mood of a room for years,_ Gollee thought back. Then he said, "I may take you up on that, Masterharper. Nevertheless, if I talk too quickly for anyone's understanding, please let me know, I will happily slow down. Telepaths typically don't have many issues with a dialect interfering with understanding, but it's not always perfect."

"Excuse me...could you explain what a dialect is?" Robinton asked.

Afra could feel Gollee's suspicion that Robinton was sassing them, until Robinton's erratic shields fell for a moment, and they both felt that Robinton's intent was more to demonstrate how question-response might go. _He's a teacher,_ Afra said.

_Clearly so,_ Gollee said. _I can work with that._ "Does everybody speak the same language on Pern? Pernese? Or no?"

"What else would we speak?" D'ram asked in interest.

Robinton turned to him and said something in thick, drawling tones that was completely incomprehensible to Afra, for Robinton's shields had raised again. There were a few chuckles at Robinton's drawl, and the room was peppered with thoughts of backwards folk living in isolated holds far away from civilization. Definitely a class divide there. Then Robinton said, "Imagine if that woodsy accent were ten times thicker, and they never referred to runners as runners, but said 'haises' or 'fole', and similarly different words for everything we consider the basic foundations of speech. That's a different language, correct?" Robinton said.

_"Horses" still remains as a word, but only for isolated populations?_ Afra mused to Gollee. _Interesting. As is that use of "foal"._

_We should have brought a linguist. _"That's about right, Masterharper. Eventually two accents can diverge so much that almost no words for a subject are exactly the same, and day to day conversation becomes problematic until one person or the other takes the time to learn the other person's _language_, which can take years—or turns—to do. A 'dialect' is an intermediate form of this, when a language has morphed, but is still relatively understandable by two people with a bit of effort. But this is a subject our scientists are better versed in than I am—" _Or would be if we had that linguist,_ Gollee said to Afra. "—so would it be a problem if we spoke of linguistics later?"

"As fascinating as words are, it's true that I would like to learn more about the FT&T," Lessa said, partly to the room, and partly to them. "We can leave words to the Harper."

There were nods of assent, so Gollee moved on. "So. I am Gollee Gren. I am a representative of the FT&T. FT&T stands for 'Federated Teleport and Telepath', and we are dedicated to the training and employment of people we call 'Talents'. In particular, we employ Talents who are born with the ability to hear other people's thoughts, or project their own thoughts to others, which are call receiving and sending telepathy respectively; or lift items without touching them—telekinesis; or teleport them from point A to B without crossing the distance between."

"There are other types of Talents in addition to that list that the FT&T is not directly affiliated with," Afra interjected when Gollee paused for a breath. "People who can find lost items, or who have premonitions of the future, such as if there is going to be rain the next day. We're mainly focused on telepathy and telekinesis, although you'll often find quadruple 'paths among people who are stronger in their Talent."

Gollee nodded. "But generally a person who sings and a person who plants tubers won't be in the same Crafthall under the same Craftmaster," Gollee said. "To make a comparison."

"Unless they are singing tuber-planters," Robinton said blandly, but with twinkling eyes and amusement leaking through his shields.

"Precisely," Gollee said. Then he cleared his throat slightly. "So, I expect a question most you have is—how did we find Pern?"

People nodded.

While Gollee recounted how Talents discovered Pern in order to give them the FT&T side of things, Afra bent down and picked up a plastic box they had brought with them. In it, he found a little ball marked with all the major oceans and landmasses of Deneb. He took this, along with several representations of stars, a representation of Pern itself, and Altair, and Earth. Then he straightened up walked to the side of the room and placed Deneb and its star in the air, and let it hang there telekinetically. Then he walked back towards Gollee and placed a small Pern and Rukbat, then took another step and placed Altair and its sun, and then took another step and left Sol and Earth hanging near Gollee's head."

"Afra's using telekinesis to keep these little planets and stars in the air," Gollee said casually, as several dragonriders leaned forward to stare. "As you can see, he put Deneb waaay off over there. Deneb is the most distant colony was have in the Nine Star League. Whereas, this little ball represents Pern, as you can tell by the continents and oceans painted on it. Pern is rather close to Altair, at least compared to Deneb being so far away, and I find it a little amazing that we didn't know you were here until recently, and that Prime Jeran Gwyn-Raven at Deneb discovered you. This, over here, is Earth, also known as Terra, where I was born, and if you watch Afra, he's putting up some more stars and planets to represent the world Capella, which _he_ was born on, and also Procyon, Vega, Betelgeuse, Iota Aurigae which is very newly colonized, and some others in the Nine Star League."

"There's more than nine planets," someone pointed out eventually.

Afra said, "There's been so many colonization efforts going on they stopped trying to rename it each time we put humans down on a new planet."

"It was a bit short-sighted of them to call it the _Nine_ Star League," Gollee said. "So, the FT&T's goal is to put a Prime Tower on each of these planets we have people on, so that goods and aid and the other niceties of trade can commence. However, at this time we don't have enough Primes to go around, so not all colonies are connected via a FT&T Tower. We do have ships that can make the trip, across the space between worlds instead of across seas, but there's a huge difference between taking turns to complete a journey, and taking seconds, which is what happens when you take a space ship versus being teleported by a Prime. As dragonriders, I'm sure you can understand that."

There was a soft rumble and a few nods.

"But for the planets that _do_ have Towers, let us demonstrate what the FT&T does on a daily basis—"

Afra had been holding hundreds of miniature cargo pods in his mental hands, and at Gollee's cue, he teleported arrays of them around each star with a Prime or T-2 pair, and, with Gollee's help, they began to rapidly 'port the little containers from "star" to "star", the pieces blinking in and out of sight. Most they 'ported directly, and some they "threw", so that to the onlookers, one would see constantly changing satellites around each world, with some longer non-port throws arcing through the air, as they would in real space sometimes.

This was perhaps one of Afra's favorite demonstrations. It was not nearly as showy as the demonstration where a telekinetic lifted a huge generator and "exploded" it into its component parts before reassembling it a minute later, but it gave an excellent visualization of what the FT&T did as a whole, and also let both of them show off their skills at the fine manipulation of many tiny pieces all at once. Both of them were so overshadowed by the brute strength of Primes on a daily basis that it was refreshing to show off the precision and skill that they _did_ have.

Their floating planetary display with streams of cargo going back and forth got an amazing emotional reaction from most of the Weyrleaders and Weyrwoman: many sat forward, and Afra could sense a simultaneous _understanding_ of the patterns between items blinking in and out, and awe that to all indications _humans_ and not _dragons_ were doing this.

"That's half-speed," Gollee said presently. "Let's add some more!"

And Afra merged with Gollee, and they added more pieces and upped the speed, and even added some spin to the planets to show days and years, and took the whole display and tilted it while maintaining every piece's appropriate position.

"The mass of the actual cargo we move is much higher than that of these pieces," Afra said quietly. He held out a hand and brought one of the small containers to his fingers, so he could hold it up and show it to his audience. "Each one of these are actually about the size of a queen dragon. The Primes pick each one up, and then move it light years from one planet to the next. A light year is the distance that a ray of light can travel in a little more time than one of your turns."

"Suffice to say, the FT&T moves very _large_ items very _far_ distances on a daily basis," Gollee said. "And we are very invested in research and discovery that will help us discover how we can move even _more_, even faster, and even further. We're constantly testing the limits of Talent, and finding new ways to use it...and new peoples that have it."

The two of them fell out of the merge and halted all the pieces mid-air.

"Do you play card games?" Afra asked the dragonriders in the room.

"Like dumpdown?" someone asked. "Holds and Halls?"

Afra caught the image of the decks used for those, and although he was not familiar with those games, he nodded. "Yes. Does anyone have a pack of cards on them that we could borrow?"

"I do," D'ram said, and dug into his tunic. A moment later, he had a deck out and was sliding it across the stone table towards Afra.

"Thank you, Weyrleader," Afra said, and took it, angling his body so that Gren would not be able to see. "We often use cards in our second demonstration. Given that almost everyone in this room is bonded to a dragon, I don't think what I'm going to show you will be of a particular surprise, but if you can imagine, doing this trick among non-Talents will gain you a lot of interest."

"Or some rude words if you're trying to use it to cheat," Gollee said.

"Only rude words?" the Igen Weyrwoman said. "In Bitra, they'd kill you for cheating at cards!"

"They'll kill your pocketbook if you _don't_," someone else muttered.

Afra slid the deck of cards out of its pouch, and then fanned them out to get a good look. They were unmistakably similar to Terran cards in several ways, but Kings, Queens, and Jacks, had Lords, Weyrwomen, and Crafters. A vivid blue caught his eye, and he pulled out a card that he realized had a very realistic hand-painted miniature portrait of Masterharper Robinton in it. A wild card? He searched through the deck and found a one that, sure enough, seemed to have Menolly on it, surrounded by firelizards. "This is a beautiful deck," Afra said.

D'ram chuckled. "Isn't it? It was tithed to the Weyr. Anonymously, if you can believe it. I'm still trying to find out who the artist is."

Afra pulled out the card with Menolly on it, marveling at the detailed fire lizards and their interwoven forked tails and necks and wings. Then he turned it out to show the Pernese. "If you'll note, you can see this card. I can see it. But Gollee Gren behind me cannot. Gollee, can you tell me which card I have?"

"You're still holding the entire deck, Afra," Gollee said promptly.

Afra turned just enough to give Gollee a look.

Gollee smiled slightly. "You have Menolly in your hand. And you believe that Harpers may be the wild cards in this deck." He glanced at Master Robinton. "Is Afra right?"

"It depends on the specific deck, but yes, we're often wild cards," Robinton said.

"Robinton's always a bloody wild card," someone said.

"So I am! May I see it?"

Afra moved over and passed it to Robinton.

"That is an incredible likeness. Look, Menolly. He must have caught you at a Gather. D'ram, if you find this artist, will you let me know who he or she is?"

"Naturally, Harper."

Afra took the card back, then shuffled the deck by hand in front of everyone. Then he walked over to N'ton and offered it. "Pick a card."

N'ton did. Afra looked at it. "Gollee?" he said, projecting the image at the other Talent behind him.

"That is a three of...I was going to say Holders, but there's a white dragon on it?" Gollee asked from the other side of the room. "He isn't here with us, the Holder with a dragon, is he?"

"No," a man with a scarred face said. Lytol. "He is meeting with the Diplomats. But his rank as Lord Holder is greater than any rank he might have as dragonrider."

"Ruth's a sport," the Weyrwoman of High Reaches said. "He doesn't count as a dragon. Lord Jaxom interfered with the egg instead of letting it die on the sands."

The sudden sharp surge in emotion in the room from multiple people gave both Afra and Gollee pause.

"Lord Jaxom flies thread over Ruatha. He protects Pern as much as any of you do," the scarred man, Lytol, said slowly but clearly, and Afra could sense a rising ache within the man, terrible in its emptiness.

"N'ton—why _is_ Lord Jaxom fighting thread with your Weyr anyhow? If he gets himself killed—"

"ENOUGH!" Weyrleader F'lar said suddenly, his voice ringing out with authority. "We're not here to discuss how Fort mans its wings."

"Or how Benden Weyr speaks for Fort?"

"Master Afra, I'm afraid that you are correct that we don't find this card trick very impressive," Robinton said before the icy silence could turn heated. "I'm not even a dragonrider, and I tell Zair where to go by image all the time, and in return he tells me where he's been—in excruciatingly boring detail. If you've seen one pair of green haunches and you've see them all."

Half of the room laughed, primarily the male half.

"You expect us to believe, Robinton, that all you send Zair to look at is green haunches?" Lessa asked.

"I expect you to believe that he looks at them whether I will it or not!"

_He turned the subject again_, Afra noted to Gollee.

_Mm-hmm. I wonder what happens if the "sport"-riding Lord born of a former tyrant dies?_

_I dearly hope you were shielding when you thought that!_ Afra said with a bit of urgency.

_Damn, you're right. I was shielding but that thought sounded a bit wrong. But clearly there's a nerve here we should probably avoid._

_Agreed._ _Let's move onto the next demonstration, shall we?_

#

Lessa was somewhat reassured that the demonstrations the Talents used to show their Talent didn't differ much from the methods she and Brekke had devised to develop their abilities. Even the hovering "stars" and "planets" were only F'lar's trick layered over itself again and again.

But...it was impressive. She glanced over at F'lar, whose attention had firmly been caught by the display while it had lasted. She'd seen him sweat over moving a single mark over a flat surface. Master Lyon, in comparison, was serene and precise the entire time, at a task that sent dozens of pieces flashing in and out of _between _in the air, not a hair or expression out of place.

Had he been so serene when she had taken over his body?

_He feared you,_ Ramoth reminded her. For they had sensed his emotions for a brief instant, before his shields had slammed over them like the outer doors of a Hold during threadfall.

Unflappable in the face of challenges, respectful and well-spoken during meals, and quick to offer her lessons in the same tricks he'd long since mastered, without any of the quibbling ways the Weyr had shown her long ago when she'd been the only queenrider on Pern. He did not fear her strength, or her personality. Why? Was his mind as strong as hers, making her no threat? Did he know something she didn't? Or, like Robinton, did he simply accept things he could not change?

Was he a true ally, or a foe biding his time?

And what about that companion of his, Gollee Gren, strutting back and forth across the room, commanding attention of the dragonmen like a talented wingleader? The man had the cocky assurance and smile of any bronzerider, and the cool delivery of a Harper, or a Crafter accustomed to instructing. The room responded to it—as well as it could, being stuffed full of men of similar mindsets and ability.

Was he...using his Talent on them, even as he demonstrated?

She listened, hard, and asked Ramoth to as well.

But neither of them could sense anything amiss.

Still, as the meeting drew to a close, she began to feel frustration. Showing off these little tricks was well and good for the other Weyrleaders, who had not been as proactive as Benden in exploring their own abilities, but Lessa wanted to know _more_. If today these Talents were in a teaching mood, tomorrow one of the Lord Holders might do something asinine, causing these men to be withdrawn. She was here, in this room, and so was Afra Lyon who had promised to teach—and would he fulfill that promise? Or had the Earth Prime he reported to—the one who had _not_ taught her how to shield, or how to ease a headache—ordered him not to?

Perhaps she let her frustration spill over, perhaps something showed on her face, but as Gollee Gren spoke to T'bor, answering a question, Lessa suddenly found her gaze held by Afra. _Do you have time after this meeting?_ he asked.

_For?_ she responded, trying to tease out if he'd heard her thoughts, or merely had been spurred into action by the winding down of this session.

But Afra simply gazed back at her.

_I do,_ she said.

_Yes,_ Ramoth echoed. _And Mnementh, too._

Next to Lessa F'lar stirred, his gaze sharpening and flicking between Afra and Lessa.

_And you, Weyrleader F'lar?_ Afra asked.

F'lar nodded, so slightly that most of the room didn't notice it.

Finally the hour ticked over, and the meeting broke. Nearly everyone tried to get a personal word with either Afra or Gollee, but both men smiled and suggested another time.

Then they were alone, except for Menolly, who'd been taking Records and had needed sometime to pack her hides and quills away. Once done, she tried to skirt the room and vanish as if nobody could see her, but Afra Lyon said, "Harper Menolly."

Menolly stopped in the doorway as if she'd been stunned, although there was absolutely nothing in Afra's tone or demeanor that should have caused that reaction. The poor girl was too skittish, sometimes. "Sir?"

Amazingly, after she turned to face him, Afra's formerly serene face softened just the slightest to look somewhat...sheepish. "Are you familiar with an 'Auntie'?"

She swung her bag to her shoulder, and straightened up. "Can you be more specific?"

"One with wings?"

Menolly's hands flew up to her face. "Oh! I was—did she bother you? Did _they_ bother you?"

"No, no, by no means! I just wanted to apologize if I took liberties. I woke up this morning—"

_Oh no!_ was Menolly's clear, unshielded thought.

_Worse would be if he _hadn't_ awoken,_ Gollee Gren sent teasingly.

"—and was greeted by her—"

"So was I!" Gollee Gren said out loud, stacking one of the tubs they'd used against the wall. "Her twin!"

Menolly began turning colors, and Lessa could feel practically in her own toes how much Menolly wanted to sink into the stonework beneath her feet.

"By Ramoth's eggshells, girl!" Lessa interrupted. "Master Lyon's trying to apologize to you and you act like he's brought out a whipping post!"

"You?" Menolly said to Afra. "Why would _you_ apologize to _me_?"

Afra blinked. "Why would I not?"

This caused enough of a philosophical standstill in the both of them that Lessa found herself tapping her foot impatiently in the silence.

"We were happy to see them," Gollee Gren said, coming over to join them. "But Afra's afraid we might have offended you by...well, petting them. They didn't stay long; Afra teleported with one on his shoulder and that seemed to irritate her, and they vanished."

Menolly stood there looking from one man to another, but as neither Talent seemed upset that they'd awoken to unexpected guests, she suddenly relaxed. "So that's what they were babbling about? Going through _between_ too swiftly?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what _between_ is," Afra said after a moment. "I thought I knew, but perhaps not—but I do apologize if my teleportation perturbed Auntie Two enough to make her bother you—"

Menolly looked away and waved a hand vaguely. "I have nine firelizards," she said.

There was surprise from both Talents.

"And I suppose I'm used to continual chatter—"

The Talents glanced at one another.

"—and it can often be cryptic. It wasn't a bother. And," she glanced at Afra, seeming shy. "I'm glad you didn't mind their company. No chain can hold them and they tend to go where they will. I can introduce you, later, if you'd like to meet the others."

"I'd enjoy that," Afra said.

"Yes, please," Gollee said. "We'd like to meet Zair too, if you can arrange that with your Master."

"I'll relay your request," Menolly said. Then she smiled, seemingly much more at ease, and slipped out the door.

"Would you like to meet _dragons_ now?" F'lar said, his voice amused.

"I wouldn't say no to that," Gollee said instantly.

Lessa was a bit miffed Menolly had been able to offer the star-born Talents a chance to meet _firelizards_ first, but she knew the girl hadn't meant anything by it so she pushed it out of her head. Then she stepped forward, and, boldly, took Afra Lyon by the arm. F'lar moved to bracket Gollee Gren on the other side, a hand to his shoulder, and together the four of them exited and made for the weyr bowl where Ramoth and Mnementh waited.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Gollee Gren had gotten glimpses of dragons the prior day, when they'd crossed the Fort weyrbowl and passed inside. But they had been distant creatures, strong enough in mind but far away in body.

When the Benden Weyrleaders introduced Afra and him to Ramoth and Mnementh, Gollee had a moment of genuine speechlessness.

He had not at all appreciated how _big_ dragons were, or how beautiful in an alien way. When he moved his mouth to say something, there was no sound, and he thought for a second he'd worn out his throat speaking, but no: he'd been struck dumb by the dragons.

For a long minute, he just gazed up at them and marveled.

And then his brain kicked in. How were those beautiful metallic colors achieved? There must be some fascinating micro-structure in the hide; the color had to come from that, and not from pigment. The gold and bronze shimmered like the wings of a morpho butterfly. Unless the hide actually had tiny metal deposits? A possibility. And the eyes—they were as large as his head, but comprised of tiny, tiny lenses not much bigger than that of insects. Why? Why had dragons retained a type of ocular system that had been quickly supplanted by single-lensed eyes on higher-order animals on Earth? What advantage did it have on Pern that it did not on other planets?

Of course, such a setup must provide a fantastic three-dimensional visual feed to the brain, in the way that a tri-d studio was lined from ceiling to floor with miniature cameras. It must be an adaptation to fight thread. A dragon's equivalence to a visual cortex must be extremely sophisticated, to tie all that visual data together into a comprehensible whole.

Ramoth stepped nearer to Gollee, and tilted her head down to observe him with one blue-green whirling eye. Why did it seem to whirl? _How_ did it do it? And was the retention of an ocular setup common to prey animals—an eye on each side of the head instead of facing forward—another adaption to thread, where the wider field of view was more useful than binocular vision even for a meat-eater?

_You are quiet,_ Ramoth said. _Much quieter than most men._ There was an air of approval from her that was not unlike the Rowan at her most Prime-like and regal, although Ramoth's telepathy had that dark, powerful...twist to it, and Gollee began to feel certain that the fact that he "heard" words at all had something to do with the great dragon's bond with Lessa. The dragon's mind-voice was eerily like Lessa's own, something rare to encounter in a telepath. In fact, a distinguishing mark of Afra's telepathic touch was that he mimicked his real voice so accurately.

Finally, Gren found his voice. "I am shielding my thoughts, golden Ramoth, so I won't bother anyone with all the inane chatter going on in this thing I call a brain. May I tell you how beautiful you are?"

_You may,_ she said. Then she waited.

Gollee felt a tiny pinprick of amusement from Afra, and a larger one from Lessa. F'lar was silent and nothing particular showed on his face or came from his mind. Gollee glanced away from Ramoth's whirling eye as he gathered his thoughts, said, "You're the most beautiful and largest dragon I've ever set eyes on. Although I'm sure Afra over here—" and he hiked his thumb at the quiet Capellan, "—wants to correct me and say you're the _first_ dragon I've met so of course you're the most lovely. However, I don't expect my declaration to be made invalid anytime soon. Trying to improve on perfection rarely works. It's truly an honor to meet you, Ramoth."

_You're piling it on,_ Afra said privately, his yellow eyes twinkling.

Gollee turned back to Afra. "Surely you feel the same?"

Afra stepped forward, and bowed deeply in respect to the giant queen. "I'm also greatly honored to have met you in person, Ramoth. But I prefer to convey my appreciation in another way—" and Gollee felt the edges of a quick, complex telepathic exchange with the dragon, forgoing words entirely.

Ramoth blinked two sets of eyelids, and pulled her head back, her neck curving into a sinuous shape, then, to Gollee's astonishment, _laughed_. Vocally.

"So," F'lar said, stepping near. "You both hear all dragons?"

"I don't know about all. We do hear many of them," Gollee said, turning to him. "The Weyr has a lot of telepathic chatter."

"Can you hear Mnementh?" the amber-eyed Weyrleader asked, cocking his head

_What do you want me to say?_ Gollee heard the bronze dragon ask F'lar.

"Whatever you want, bronze Mnementh," Gollee said.

_I will say hello, then. Hello._

"Hello, Mnementh. Your handsomeness rivals your mate's beauty."

The Benden Weyrleaders both regarded him with interest.

Then F'lar addressed Afra. "You hear them too? All of them?"

"Yes," Afra said. "As far as we know, we're hearing all the dragons in the Weyr. Many of the humans as well. Don't you?"

Afra's delivery was casual, but Gollee was glad he'd finally been able to broach the thing they'd noticed all yesterday. Although by the same measure, he also had the impression that the Weyrleaders were also broaching a question _they_ had been curious about.

But questions being broached were a good thing, and something that comforted Gollee.

"There have been Weyrwoman, throughout history, with the ability to 'hear all dragons' as we call it," F'lar said pensively. "And occasionally, a rider may hear another rider's beast, if there is an especial bond between the riders, such as when they are weyrmates."

_'Beast?'_ Afra sent, with overtones of having serious misgivings about that word choice.

_I'm going to have a difficult time calling another sentient being a 'beast',_ Gollee agreed.

The Weyrleader was oblivious to the silent exchange. "But I don't know of any instance where a _man_ has had the ability," F'lar concluded.

"I can hear all dragons," Lessa said. "And so can one other at Benden. If any other riders have this ability, I'm not aware of it. In our Records, there have been other Weyrwomen with the same power, such as Moreta, but never a male."

Female-only telepathy? Gollee had never encountered such a thing in all his years in the FT&T. "I've never heard of telepathy being sex-linked," he said musingly.

Afra took in a breath.

"Are you going to contradict me, Afra?"

Afra smiled briefly. "I've never encountered a Talent that was sex-linked across its entire spectrum. But there are multiple examples of, say, mothers able to sense when their offspring are in danger, even if normally the child in trouble is located outside of their range."

"I'm not entirely sure that's sex-linked," Gollee said. "_You_ noticed the pregnancies of several women of our acquaintance before the women themselves knew, and you're male. One of those of those women being my very own wife."

Afra paused. Then he spoke, in a tone that was both apologetic and mischievous, "_About_ that—"

Gollee shot Afra look of wide-eyed exaggerated shock, at which F'lar and Lessa both laughed.

Afra chuckled too, before sobering and adding, "Perhaps a more concrete example are the Hivers."

"Hmm," Gollee said. "Women _did_ sense them first," he said, nodding slowly. "When they returned for the second attack."

"The beings that attacked Deneb?" F'lar said.

Gollee nodded. "But I don't think that has any bearing in this situation. Moreover, doesn't Masterharper Robinton talk to dragons?"

"What?" F'lar asked.

"What?" Lessa asked.

Gollee had not expected their surprise, so immediately he wondered if he had said something he shouldn't. "Perhaps I'm mistaken," he said quickly. "He's quite adept with the firelizard of his, Zair, so I may have mixed the two up—"

_We are not firelizards,_ Mnementh said, his tone dismissive. And, _The Harper hears when we speak._

"Oh, really?" F'lar said to his dragon, his golden eyes narrowing. Then he shook his head to himself and brushed his forelock out of his eyes. "I suppose it explains much about him."

"Quite like a Harper not to mention it too," Lessa said. Then she made a dismissive gesture, and turned to Afra, looking him up and down. "You said you would teach me."

Afra gave a slight bow. "I did."

"Then let's discuss that."

#

"And then—" Menolly said to Sebell and Piemur, setting out supplies so they could make copies of her Records to send to each Weyr as well as the Harper Hall Archives, "—he said, 'Why would I _not?'" _A wide stole upon Menolly's mouth, turning her handsome face pretty. Her sea blue eyes twinkled.

Piemur dragged a stool up to the table with his foot and sat down, while Sebell did the same on Menolly's other side. "Okay. And what's the exciting part?" Piemur asked in confusion.

Menolly blinked at him. "What do you mean?" she said, her smile fading.

"—I mean, what was the exciting part? You were grinning fit to send a watch-wher giggling when you came back from the meeting," Piemur said.

Sebell began frantically shaking his head and drawing a finger across his throat over Menolly's shoulder.

Piemur screwed up his face. "What?" he asked Sebell. Why did Sebell want him to shut up?

Menolly turned to look at Sebell, who stopped making signs before she could spot it, and just smiled pleasantly at her. "What's going on between you two?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Sebell said. "Could you pass me over that ink? Piemur apparently doesn't know how to."

"_No_, what I don't know is why you want me to shut up." Piemur grabbed the bottle of ink and rolled it over to Sebell. "You didn't ask for _ink. _Anyway, that can't be _all_ that happened, Menolly. They just floated things around and looked at cards? What's so special about that?"

"Oh, like _you_ can float things around, can you?" Menolly said, starting to get her back up. Somewhere in the room a firelizard began to grumble. "I _suppose_ when we weren't looking _you_ took up playing the gitar without even needing to touch it?"

Sebell promptly began strumming an invisible gitar behind her back, purposely interpreting her words in the wrong way.

"But we knew they could do that already," Piemur said. "Just like we know they can speak mind-to-mind like dragons."

"But we hadn't _seen_ it! I hadn't seen it! Until today. And I can't help but think how much _skill _it must have taken Master Lyon to do all of that, all at once! There must have been a _hundred_ little figurines, all floating about and going _between_ independently of one another! He didn't even look _tired_. He has a nice voice too, although I don't know if he can sing—"

_He has a nice voice too, although I don't know if he can sing!_ Sebell mouthed behind Menolly's back.

Piemur arched an eyebrow at Sebell.

Menolly whirled around. "Are you _doing_ something?"

"The cap's stuck," Sebell said, twisting at the top of the ink bottle. "Oh, there we go..." He set the bottle down carefully as the scent of ink filled the air and wiped a stray droplet that had gotten onto his finger onto the leather leg of his pants.

Piemur began to realize what was going on.

Menolly was in _luuuurrvve._ With the handsome green-skinned Talent.

"Oh for—no I'm _not!_" Menolly snapped. "I can appreciate the skill of a Crafter without being in _love_. Do you think I'm in love with Master _Domick_?"

Piemur made a gagging sound. "If you are, you're _dead_ to me! Do you hear that? DEAD!"

Sebell laughed.

"Right. Well don't worry because I'm _not_. He's the best bloody Composer in the Hall, and I can say that _without_ being in _love_ with him!"

Someone cleared his throat at the doorway. "Am I intruding?" Master Robinton said mildly, poking his head in.

"Not at all, Master," Sebell said for them cheerfully. "Menolly was just explaining to us how she's _not_ in love with Master Domick!"

"Sebell!" Menolly cried in despair.

"Oh? Is that so?" Robinton let out a theatrical sigh. "And to think I thought—well never mind that. I'll be careful to let him know," Robinton said. "His stony, black heart will be crushed, but I'm sure he'll survive. His music was getting a little boring anyhow and could use the turmoil and angst."

"Master!" Menolly practically wailed.

"Yes?" Robinton asked innocently.

Menolly looked around the room, where three male Harpers were waiting for her to accept the teasing.

But instead of sighing and giving them a fond look like she usually did when she ended up the butt of their jokes, she became very quiet, then said, no expression on her face, "I'm going to go feed my firelizards. Robinton, Master Lyon would like to meet Zair at some point."

"I'll make sure to arrange a time for him to meet...Zair," Robinton said, blinking. "Are you sure he doesn't want to meet with _me_?"

Menolly shrugged. "I don't know," she said curtly. Then she gathered her things and left.

Piemur watched her go silently with the others. "She usually can take a joke better than _that_," he said when she was well out of earshot, and hopefully out of mind-shot too.

"She'll be fine," Sebell said dismissively. "You know she still gets worked up about silly things."

Robinton cocked his head at Sebell, then looked at Piemur. "She doesn't _really_ feel as if she's fallen in love with_—_"

"No," they chorused.

"It's nothing _at all _to do with Domick," Piemur clarified.

"_Master_ Domick," Sebell chided.

Piemur eyed him. For someone who had been mocking Menolly behind her back he was putting on quite the good-boy act now. "Okay," he said dubiously.

"When can the two of you have these copies done?"

"An hour or two?" Sebell suggested.

"Sure," Piemur said.

Robinton nodded. "Good. I suppose it is nearing the noontime meal; I'm going to go feed Zair. I'll have something sent to you so you can eat while you work on those." Then he turned and left, clearly en route to soothe Menolly's chafed hide.

Once the Masterharper was gone, Piemur turned to Sebell. "What was _wrong_ with you?" he asked. "And how come she could read my head and not yours?"

"Natural shield," Sebell said. "I seem to have one. They can't read my mind. Which means," and here he looked smug, "Neither can the Talents nor the Dragonmen!"

#

_Hi,_ a soft voice said in Menolly's mind.

Menolly paused in feeding chunks of raw meat to Uncle. _Hello?_ she asked carefully after she realized someone really was trying to speak to her.

_I'm sorry they were being asses to you._

_You're...Damia?_ Menolly guessed, for she recalled the _feel_ of this person.

The touch seemed to strengthen. _Yes._ There was a pause. _Are you going to tell anyone I'm talking to you?_

_You're not supposed to be?_ Menolly asked.

_Not really, but...things around you are very _interesting_. And I'll be a Prime in a few years, and know most of it anyhow. Among telepaths, it's hard to keep secrets. Gollee and Afra are pretty much family, and I was there when Weyrwoman Lessa reached out to Afra on Earth so in a way, I've met her too._

Menolly didn't quite know what Damia was talking about, but filed the information that Lessa had somehow reached out to Earth and Master Lyon prior to the Terrans arriving into the back of her mind. _I won't tell on you,_ she said. _But how much of it did you see?_ she asked with chagrin.

Damia didn't answer right away, which told Menolly everything. But Damia sent a soothing touch, much like how Menolly and Robinton were learning to with their Talent. _Afra's much more polite than most men are, isn't he?_ she said with some fondness.

Trying to modulate the odd feeling she got, Menolly said, _Yes. He's kind, like Master Robinton._

_Oh, I like Master Robinton too. I don't know him, but I like him. He's sort of...grandfatherly._ The feeling of "kindly old man" came through strongly with her words.

_He's not _that_ old!_ Menolly protested. He was still a vigorous, driven man despite the silver threading in his hair. And it didn't matter to her that since she'd met him, "silvering" had turned more and more into "silver".

Another pause. Then Damia said, _No, and I bet if he's ever on Earth we'll fix that. He's much younger than my grandmother._

_What do you mean?_ Menolly asked.

_Our...Healers are more advanced. With us, a man doesn't have to have silver in his hair unless he wants it. Or woman. My mom's hair has been white since she was three, and she could have it permanently fixed if she wanted to, but she doesn't. I've an early white streak, too, from her, but I'm keeping it. _Abruptly she changed the subject. _I like your firelizards. We keep Coonies and barque cats for pets, but none of them have real _minds_ like your firelizards do._

Uncle, irritated by a lump of meat that had been hanging in front of his nose without being offered, reached up and snatched it from her fingers. She let it go without even a stern word, too caught up in her telepathic conversation.

_They are, however, just as greedy when it comes to mealtime!_ And suddenly there was an image of a fat, furry orange creature with a masked face sneaking into a lap, grabbing a vegetable from a plate, and then running off to wash it in its water bowl before eating it.

Menolly found herself smiling, her hurt feelings of earlier fading when faced with adorable images of Coonies. _Coonies?_ she asked, suddenly knowing and not-knowing the word at the same time.

_A type of domesticated raccoon. A raccoon is an Earth animal. Afra actually introduced all of Callisto moonbase to them. I'm watching his while he is with you. _And another image was given to Menolly, this one of Afra Lyon reclining on a strange-looking couch with one of the fuzzy creatures curled up on his chest.

The image was so completely adorable that Menolly didn't know how to put it into words, unless the "word" consisted entirely of a high-pitched squeak of glee.

_Isn't it?!_ Damia said. _Afra and his Coonies are soooo fucking cute you just want to DIE!_

Menolly giggled. _My Auntie Two ended up with him last night. I didn't realize. But he didn't seem to mind. Now he wants to meet them all!_

_Afra will never mind animals,_ Damia advised wisely. _I think sometimes he likes them better than people._

_I was so afraid they'd bothered him!_

_Please,_ Damia said, with a sarcasm reminiscent of Mirrim. _With Afra around, I bet your firelizards will end up spending more time with him than you!_

_I doubt it,_ Menolly said, for her friends had always faithfully returned to her. _But they might spend a good deal if he keeps scratching all their favorite spots! I love all of mine, but the downside of having nine is that there's only one of me, and lots of them!_

_The Harper's coming,_ Damia said suddenly. _He's looking for you. We'll talk again later!_

_Will we?_ Menolly asked, feeling suddenly bereft that the conversation was being cut short so abruptly, but the other girl was already gone. So she turned, searching around the Weyr bowl until she did see the tall form of Master Robinton making his way to her, with Zair on his shoulder and his own bowl of meat in his hands. "I shouldn't have walked out on him," she whispered to Uncle, who was now sitting directly _inside_ the bowl of food while the others literally grabbed gobbets out from under him. "But first it was Piemur going on on me, then Sebell, and then _him_ too!" Suddenly, the tight feeling that had accosted her before came back. It hadn't been _fair!_

"Menolly!" Robinton said, once in earshot. "May I join you?"

Menolly swallowed, then said weakly, "Yes, Master."

Robinton raised an eyebrow at that, and stopped next to her. "Your words say one thing, but the rest of you another. I will leave if you wish, but before I do, I did want to apologize for upsetting you. I'm old enough to know there's some topics one doesn't just tease about, even if the two of _them_ don't. Three on one is a bit rough."

"It had nothing to do with Master Domick," she said.

"I didn't think it did," Robinton said. "But...I don't intend to say anything to him you know, even in jest."

She nodded.

They stood there in silence then, until Robinton shifted to his other foot, then began to turn away.

Then she said, "You don't have to leave. I'm just being silly. Uncle, get out of the bowl!"

Uncle, who had been anticipating this order all along, did so, his blue belly distended and bulging with all he'd managed to eat unhindered.

Robinton put a hand on her shoulder. "Emotions are never silly. Often, they are just truths too nuanced and complex to think about in verbal form. The music of the soul, as opposed to the lyrics."

Menolly smiled slightly.

"So Master Lyon wishes to talk to my Zair? They seemed adamant to everyone that their day was full, although perhaps that's because the Benden Weyrleaders had already claimed it. It's difficult to deny the Weyrleaders."

"I think that's what happened," Menolly said. "But I don't think his request was an insult against you, Master. Aunties One and Two snuck off last night and spent it with the Talents, and he wanted to be sure that I didn't mind. And he just threw in a word about Zair, too." She tried to smile, and added what she'd felt was the most important part of that conversation—to her at least. "He didn't seem to think his Master outranked my Journeywoman and that he could do whatever he liked with them if they chose to stay. Imagine if...if Lord Raid or Master Nicat had asked _my_ permission to do something!"

"I ask for permission before I take liberties," Robinton said.

She smiled up at him. "You're you. And most people are _not_ at all like you."

"Well, I would think such a thing is common courtesy—"

She snorted.

"Although, knowing our Conclave...perhaps not." He sighed. "Far too few see the difference between respecting rank for what it represents, and using it as a petty shield or weapon. Has anyone else been bothering you? You seem quite melancholy compared to this morning..."

"No, I'm okay. I just..." she hesitated. "I _was_ fine when I came with the the Records for them to help me copy, and then Piemur...and Sebell...they just _went off_ on me—imagine how they would act if I ever did that to _them!"_ she said indignantly. Then she paused suddenly. "You _know_..." she said slowly.

Robinton waited. Then when she didn't speak he said, "I don't think I do."

"It was _Sebell!"_

"What do you mean?"

"I expect _Piemur_ to be a snark-bucket—"

Robinton snorted at that description.

"—but Sebell is not usually so pointy. He's usually _nice_. But he was doing things behind my back, and you know how we can't really read him, but Piemur could see him and I heard _that_ just fine, and...why was Sebell being such an _ass?"_

For a moment, Robinton looked like he was about to say something, then, grimacing, thought better of it and said something else. "Sebell has off-days too—and be thankful for it! If he always kept that cheerful disposition up I'd be absolutely convinced he was doing something evil and wicked fit to shame myself and the entire Hall in his personal time. I'm sure he'll come around and apologize, eventually."

She cocked her head at him. "Do you know something I don't?"

"I know many things you don't, my dear," Robinton said.

A blush rose in her cheeks and she looked away. "True."

He patted her shoulder. "But luckily for you, it's my job to teach you most of them, Journeywoman. So someday you'll be equal in wisdom."

"Actually, if I learn _all_ you know, I'll be greater in wisdom. Because I'll be able to avoid your follies without first having experienced them!"

"Ah, so you're betting your own flaws won't cancel that effect?" Robinton said with a grin.

"Flaws? What flaws?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Robinton smiled and gave her another pat. Then he began to feed Zair, who had been patiently awaiting his meal the entire time.

#

Afra had always held the Rowan as an example of the tiniest a normal woman could be, just as he'd always seen himself as a good example of the opposite in height. However, as Lessa curled her hands around the crook of his elbow to lead him elsewhere, he realized that, for all of the Rowan's angst with having grown up a Prime orphan shackled to the FT&T machine, the Rowan had, from a physical perspective, been well-cared for her entire life.

Lessa was smaller than the Rowan. By a few inches in height, certainly, but the Weyrwoman of Benden was also more delicate in features and bone structure. And looking down at her dark plaited hair while he very carefully shielded to counter the intimacy a physical touch between telepaths brought, he suspected that this woman at some point had been starved, making a naturally small woman never reach the full size her genes might have allowed her if she'd been cared for properly. In fact, to his faint surprise, the excessive thinness repulsed him on a certain level, his baser, inner instincts marking it as unhealthy and unproductive for a woman, although he had never thought himself to be so affected by physical appearance.

But when she tilted her head upwards, and her gray eyes met his as she spoke, he felt the force of her personality again, bright, regal, her temper sharpened as a weapon she had needed instead of the outlet of a bored Prime to ease the ache of loneliness. She had a mind that blazed from her physical form with the strength of a star.

What would the Rowan have been like, if she'd never resignedly accepted the necessity of becoming a FT&T Prime? If instead of waiting for Jeff to show her a way out of the cage (and, largely working against Afra's own efforts to free her), she'd forced the leap upon herself?

Afra abruptly realized he was still gaining considerable insight from their physical touch, things that perhaps Lessa wouldn't want him to know. There was no other explanation for how easily he could compare one woman to the other. Likewise, she might be gaining similar insight into him—which was unsettling, given what tracks his mind had been taking and the secrets of one of his dearest friends he might inadvertently be spilling.

He would need to apologize to the Rowan at some point. (Which would be a difficult and awkward thing; Rowan would be quite curious about a woman who could compare in his mind to her, and would catch the comparison even if he tried to deny he'd made it.)

Afra swallowed. He was here to _teach_, as he had begged Jeff to allow him to do. And clearly his first lesson should be this: Talents did not engage in casual physical contact. Not out of coldness, but out of respect towards how easily inner secrets could be breached by it.

Even telepaths needed their secrets.

Lessa abruptly dropped his arm, making it look as if she'd just had her attention caught by something else, but Afra _knew._

He closed his eyes briefly. What an incompetent way to teach a first lesson! Nearly bare-skin contact with a budding Prime—and no words at all!

He would have to do better.

He _would_ do better.

#

By mutual agreement, Lessa had taken the arm of Afra Lyon, who she already had established some sort of rapport with, and F'lar had taken Gollee Gren's side. This amused Lessa, for she could see F'lar reacting to Master Gren's more aggressive nature, and moving to shepherd it away from Lessa lest they upset one another as he often redirected men who might seek to unconsciously run over or intimidate a woman as physically small as she was and reap the unpleasant rewards of such a trick.

As they walked with the two Talents, Lessa spoke to Master Lyon of general things, such as the weather, and how weather might be on other planets, but underneath the hands that encircled the tall man's elbow, she could feel warm flesh and more importantly, an intense awareness of her—not unlike the awareness she could feel when leaning against her dragon's hide, or before Ramoth, with her arms around the wher that had once been her only friend in the world. And like such creatures, he listened to her words with one ear, but gave them as little consideration as they were worth. Which is to say he listened to _her_, beneath whatever her mouth happened to say.

She fancied she sensed a deep urgency to the odd green-skinned man, buried deep under layers of stillness. This stillness, she thought, was not one of nature, but one of discipline.

Discipline. Something she had never needed to cultivate in this subject before. When you seemed the only one with such abilities, there was little call for manners, much like a woodsy person in a one-man Hold in the middle of nowhere eating with dirty hands, belching, and farting without second thought.

The thought disgusted her—particularly so when she realized she might seem as such, next to the well-mannered, very proper man beside her.

She had lived as a drudge, yes. Filthy matted hair, slimy oily skin. But it had only been a game of survival. That's not who she _was_. She had been _born_ a Lady of Ruatha Hold, the youngest daughter of a Lord, and had quickly reclaimed the manners she had been taught once brought to Benden Weyr.

For an instant she felt shamed. In another instant, she was sure he knew another woman like her—and felt Lessa may have made better use of her gifts. She wasn't sure if she should feel less shamed, or more.

She wondered who this woman was, and for an instant almost asked, but then she realized she _had_ been behaving like a common drudge, taking liberties by placing her hands on his person. Oh, he was too polite to directly chide, but her action had been akin to a child innocently reaching up his leg to hug one of his very long legs and managing to accidentally grab him by the balls. He was trying to figure out how to explain to her to let go for politeness' sake without mentioning just how awkward a position they were in.

Mortified, she quickly let go of his arm. Why hadn't she realized—of course. With the wher, she _had_ been a child, and with Ramoth, she had been the dragon's and the dragon hers. Physical contact had been a welcome, craved thing.

But among human telepaths, it created a too-deep reading—strangely, even deeper than the possession trick she'd duplicated across light years. It was impolite, and the human mind was not meant for such deep revelations between two people, particularly two strangers with the weight of worlds on their shoulders who hardly knew one another.

Master Talent. Already teaching, without saying a word.

She resolved to be a better student.

#

After the Weyrwoman dropped his arm, Afra was able to put his thoughts into better order. Once he had done this, he projected a sense that he was about to lecture a bit as an introduction to their first lesson, then spoke.

"Training for strong telepaths and empaths in the FT&T consists of several areas of study. The first area is shielding. I've demonstrated the technique for you at the most basic level in the past, but shielding techniques are more akin to the layers of an onion than an actual one-piece shield. They can be strengthened or weakened, permeable to one thing but not another." He paused. "Do you have onions?" He projected an image to her, of an underground vegetable that was pungent with many layers.

"We have those," she confirmed, as she continued to walk beside him. "We even call them onions," she said with faint good humor.*

Afra wondered how well underground crops did in a land with thread, but didn't question it for now. Instead he continued. "It's possible to shield your thoughts but not your emotions, or your emotions but not your thoughts. It's possible to shield your private mind, while leaving your public mind open to probe. And many, many other variations."

Lessa nodded.

"We also teach projection of thoughts, from a telepathic sender to a receiver. First 'sound', then other sensory impressions, and finally vision.

"After that, we speak in depth about ethics, the things that were not necessary to touch upon for earlier lessons. And after ethics, we teach about the crowd control topics. First we start with gestalting with another's mind; lending your power to theirs, merging thoughts and egos to perform as one person."

"Humans can do that with other humans?" Lessa asked sharply.

"Yes. It's an everyday occurrence in a working Tower. But less common for telepaths who do not work in Towers. When I was stationed in Callisto Tower, I would merge minds with the Rowan several times a day, five days a week. As you can see," and Afra gave the Weyrwoman a small smile, "I remain a male of Capellan descent, and do not have the mind of a female Prime of Altairian descent. This was achieved by using shielding techniques to keep my inner self apart from the T-1 I worked with.

"Once gestalt is learned, we cover the most delicate subjects: crowd control techniques. FT&T telepaths and empaths are often employed in situations where it's possible that large crowds will panic and cause destruction and death. This means such Talents need to learn how to ethically and safely lean on many unTalented minds at once, without permanent harm."

"So you control people's minds," Lessa said.

This was always a tricky thing to explain. "We control _masses_ of people, where one person in crowded conditions setting something on fire or otherwise causing strife could result in a stampede or bloodbath caused by many. Even unTalented individuals will form a sort of hive-mind when put together in a group that has high energy, be it positive or negative. Crowd control Talents will nudge the overall atmosphere of a crowd from sullen to neutral, or fanatic to neutral. I'm sure observing one of your Gathers, or even recalling the meal last evening, will show you an example of such a crowd that could cause harm if it turned ugly. Controlling an individual, however, is criminal and carries heavy penalties in the Nine Star League."

"What sort of penalties?"

"It depends on the exact infraction. A three year old child telepath pushing their unTalented mother to buy them a toy may, if they become difficult enough, have a hypnotic block put on their Talent so they are not likely to use it until they are old enough to understand right and wrong, or until they are moved to a situation where other telepaths can monitor their behavior and provide correction via peer example and opinion. Whereas a grown telepath turning the mind of a political official or corporate worker to meet the telepath's individual goals may have their telepathy burned out of their head entirely."

"You can remove this ability?"

"By overloading a lesser Talent's telepathic synapses, yes. This is why strength must be modulated around Talents of lighter strength, such as Masterharper Robinton, so you don't accidentally take his Talent from him by frying it." He paused. "Taking the Talent of even the weakest telepath or empath away is akin to blinding or deafening an ordinary man or woman. It's difficult for a mind used to hearing people around them, knowing them, sometimes being one in them, to have that stripped away. The loneliness they feel is intense, and normal methods of assuaging it do not often work. Despite this, it's still a punishment for those who would misuse their abilities. It's usually a very successful deterrent."

For a second, Afra felt the faint pang of fear from Lessa, before it was suppressed.

He let her thoughtful silence continue, suspecting she was thinking back on how her anger had hurt the Harper once. He hoped to have many additional conversations beyond this one to explore the issues with her, but he felt it wise she think about it a bit now. Most tragedies people new to their Talents caused were ones where they literally did not know they were hurting someone else with their strength. The charge from strong telepathic contact could hide many pains including the ones warning a mind was being forever altered and ruined.

After giving her some time to consider, Afra said, "The final thing we go over—although as it pertains to each previous section we do teach portions of it prior—is Talent etiquette. Etiquette among Talents is strongly functional; it's not weighed down by centuries of tradition and outside factors that no longer have bearing such as old feuds or the like. If something is considered rude, there's generally a reason for it. For example," and here Afra began to state in words what their faux pas earlier was, "Talents tend not to physically touch one another, in greeting or farewell or even in friendship, unless both parties are open to the other seeing and sensing things that are personal. This actually conflicts with the manners of non-Talents in the Nine Star League. You will likely see our Diplomat offering his hand to shake constantly. You will also notice Gollee Gren and I do not offer the same. People will sometimes assume aloofness in Talents due to this, but it's actually a defense to keep from knowing things we should not."

"Then I owe you an apology, Master Talent. My intent was not to invade. Like your Diplomat, certain kinds of physical contact are considered polite here. If I may be frank, there are those among us who might afraid to touch you. You in particular, Master Lyon, because we don't quite have anyone who looks like you."

Afra smiled slightly. How very true that was. Although he wasn't quite so sure about people not wanting to touch him; he'd had the opposite sense as people's minds openly and strangely commented on how beautiful they'd found him. But he said, "I know. I took no offense, Lady Lessa." At least if she wanted to get her hands all over him, she wasn't projecting the desire directly into his head like he was nothing more than an exotic to gawk at. "But speaking of etiquette, and if I may ask a question of my own—is it rude of us to be able to hear dragons?"

Her brow creased. "I've heard dragons since I came to the Weyr. Nobody has ever thought me rude for being able to do it. On the contrary, it's a rare and valued ability. That said, it is very strange for someone who is not a dragonrider, and also will not become one, to be able to do it. Typically those who can have already been selected as Candidates, and will stand for Impression."

"What is Impression?"

A smile bloomed across Lessa's face, and for an instant she was radiantly beautiful. Ramoth's presence became slightly stronger, then faded again. "It's the moment when you stand on the Hatching Ground with all the dragon eggs cracking around you, and you turn around and realize one of them is yours, and you are hers, and you'll never be alone again."

Afra felt a faint, faint echo of that exhilarating experience from her, and politely shielded because it seemed a thing he should not sample for himself without direct invitation to share the memory. He asked another question, filing the previous experience away for future contemplation. "Do all Candidates Impress?"

"Oh, no. Some are not found suitable by the dragonets, for reasons we don't quite understand."

"Do dragons ever choose a different rider later, or do riders choose different dragons later?"

A look of amusement. "The dragon chooses. Once. Man has no choice. We Impress, or we don't. If we do, the bond is permanent." The smile faded. "When the human dies, the dragon dies after them."

"And if the dragon dies first?"

Lessa became briefly pensive. "The human lives. Or maybe she dies. Or she loses her mind entirely and spends the rest of her life drooling and having her oversized nappies changed." There was a brief image of a lovely blond woman with vacant eyes, but it vanished quickly.

Afra expected such an answer—he hoped he never witnessed the separation of Jeran and Cera, or Damia and Larak—but the answer was still chilling. "That sounds similar to the effect of having one's Talent burnt out."

She tilted her head up at him. "If they survive with their minds intact, they can still hear dragons if one is so cruel as to bespeak them and remind them of all they've lost. And the dragonless do sometimes go on to become productive members of society. You've been in the presence of two of them already. Lytol, formerly L'tol rider of brown Larth. He moderates the Conclave currently, having been Dragonman, and Weaverman, and most recently Lord Warder of Ruatha Hold before Lord Jaxom was old enough for it. It's rare that anyone has experienced all three types of position. And Brekke, former queen rider of gold Wirenth, and now a dragon healer and weyrmate of F'nor. Brekke, like myself, hears all dragons." She paused. "But you're right, it does sound similar. A dragonless rider will never stop mourning the loss of their dragon. I could understand a Talent mourning the loss of their Talent, too."

"I apologize for pushing our conversation into such somber territory," Afra said quietly.

She shrugged her slender shoulders. "It may be for the best that we both understand that both our worlds have dangers and heartbreak that lurk for the ignorant and unwary. Isn't that why you want to teach me? It seems fair that I tell you a bit about the Weyr. All Pernese children know these things. But, there is willing to teach—and willing to _teach_. You say a telepath Talent's education covers all those aspects you mentioned before; will I be able to learn these things?"

"Circumstances permitting," Afra said. "Yes."

"What circumstances would prevent?"

"Diplomatic ones. And personnel. Mr. Gren and I have a responsibility to ensure our party remains safe from any threat Talent could prevent. One of us must be on duty at all times. The other is free to pursue goals that align with FT&T interests."

"But you're both here now?" Lessa said, her eyebrows going up.

_We multi-task,_ Gollee sent, although he was off some feet away walking and speaking with F'lar. Afra knew they were discussing the threat of thread.

"To some extent," Afra confirmed.

"And if I invite you to Benden Weyr this afternoon, to begin further lessons on...shielding, I believe? Would you come?"

Afra briefly reached out to Gollee, relayed his conversation with Lessa. Gollee didn't mind staying behind. He intended to speak to N'ton later, once he'd finished up his conversation with F'lar. And Afra and Gollee began accruing coordinates, they could teleport at will around the planet. Afra said to Lessa, "I would, but just for this evening. I need to rejoin my party prior to this evening's meal."

"Ramoth and I can return you," Lessa said, waving the concern off. "Benden time is few hours before Fort's, so you'll be back here with a couple of hours to spare." Then she stopped walking suddenly. Afra also stopped out of politeness, and kept his face neutral when the small woman looked him over intently, from the top of his head to the toes on his feet. "I wonder if Fort's Headwoman has any extra wherhide that would even fit you. You're bigger than the Harper, but skinnier than the Smith. Ramoth?"

Ramoth spoke to Mnementh. Mnementh spoke to F'lar.

F'lar said, _No rider will have anything to fit him_.

Mnementh said, _He says no rider will have anything to fit._

Ramoth said, _Mnementh says that his rider says nothing will fit him._

Throughout this, Afra had heard every exchange as the question went from rider to dragon to dragon to man and back again.

_That's horribly inefficient,_ Gollee commented privately to Afra.

_We'll rectify it soon enough,_ Afra agreed.

"How do you tolerate cold?" Lessa asked.

"How much cold?"

"Bitter cold where the hairs in your nose freeze, but only lasting for the time it takes a man to cough thrice."

"I believe I could handle that dressed as I am," Afra ventured. He would only have to boost his metabolism slightly.

_Macho macho man,_ Gollee said.

_Shut up,_ Afra said.

Amusement, keen and bright.

"Very well. Come with us, Master Lyon, and Ramoth and I will show you Benden Weyr!"

* I've no idea if your Pern has onions, but MINE does. And I'm not making a stupid name for them!


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Afra felt an unexpected surge of childlike glee when he realized that _he_ was going to ride on the back of a dragon to Benden Weyr! It was a completely unexpected feeling and Afra was wistful that he'd suppressed the surge of it immediately behind restraint and shields. Had he been in the presence of friends, such as Damia or Rowan or Jeff or even the Tower crew at Callisto, he would have laughed in joy.

But he was too new here for it to be proper to show unbridled emotion.

"You will sit behind me," Lessa said, buttoning the last button on her wherhide jacket, and twisting her long loose hair into a bun and slipping her helmet over it. "You may hold onto the straps at my waist, or my shoulders. Don't throttle me or clutch at my chest."

"I would never do either of those things," Afra said.

"I don't believe you would, but I've had otherwise polite first-time passengers do both. I did not like them very much after it." A peculiar twist of her mouth said just how much she hadn't liked them.

Afra said, "I don't blame you."

The huge golden dragon knelt for her rider, and Afra watched as Lessa stepped up on the offered limb and expertly seized the band around Ramoth's neck to haul herself up into the large space between two neck ridges. She and began clipping straps to the rings on her belt. Then she gestured down for him to come up.

Afra approached Ramoth. _Will I hurt you if I step on your hide, golden queen?_ he asked.

_You are small. You will not hurt me with your feet._

Compared to the dragon, he supposed he was quite small, but he still felt all of the weight from his height tugging at his limbs.

_Come, green man_, the dragon said_. It's not so hard._

He could have levitated himself, but chose not to, first stepping on the dragon's forearm, then reaching most of the way up the neck to seize the strap, hauling himself up perhaps a little more easily than the tiny Lessa had due to his reach and height. The shimmery golden hide was pleasantly soft under his fingers. He swung his leg over the neck, behind Lessa, as he'd been taught to when riding the only other creature he'd ridden (a horse), and placed his hands at her waist around the riding straps, and found riding a dragon was _nothing_ like riding a horse. Ramoth stood up from her crouch and they rose high into the air, seated at the base of her sinuous neck at the shoulder. It was strangely thrilling to do so under a power other than his own.

The dragon was bigger than the average colonial house. That fact amazed him, destroying all the facts he knew about the maximum limit a terrestrial animal could have.

Was telekinesis as good as living in an ocean and being supported by water for a being of this size? It must be!

_Hold on,_ Lessa sent.

And then Ramoth leapt skyward.

Despite his own command of telekinesis, Afra found himself clutching at the straps at her waist and tightening his knees as they lurched into the sky. His eyes watered and the air became thin in his lungs as they rose over the volcanic caldera.

But his awareness of physical discomfort only lasted a moment, and Afra felt a strange wonder as he was borne higher and higher into the mid-day sky on the back of a mythical beast that shouldn't even be able to fly. He supposed it was a bit silly for a Talent such as himself to feel wonder at it, but he did.

The view from her back was beautiful.

Afra could sense Lessa and Ramoth discussing something, but not what it was. Then Lessa said, _We're going _between_._

He had no time to reply.

And then there was blackness.

#

When Afra noticed there was blackness, he knew he was already dead.

He felt a prickle of bitter cold. He identified hard vacuum all around him: no air, no mass, no energy, no light. He reflexively adjusted his metabolism towards torpor levels, able perhaps to stave off his own death for a couple of minutes, but when he reached out for the comforting mass of any star he knew in order to effect a teleport back to an environment he could survive in, there was nothing there.

They'd missed the co-ordinates. Perhaps he had unconsciously interfered with their jump. But every inch of him that had spent over twenty years as twic of Callisto Tower knew this was _not_ how a teleport went when it was successful.

He was already dead. His mind just hadn't had the courage to accept it yet.

He was _dead_.

Afra closed eyes he couldn't feel, and struggled to process that horrifying fact, sorting through random bits of his life, thinking of people he hadn't been close enough to with regret, wondering what would happen to his Coonie Ringle even though he'd already left him in Damia's capable hands, and feeling sudden remorse in how he'd just failed in his mission from the FT&T—

—then—

—suddenly—

LIGHT.

And panic.

_AFRA!_ Rowan and Damia screamed, nearly indistinguishable in their power and grief.

—A stream of pure terror from Gollee Gren—

—Mingled pain and rage from Jeff Raven—

—Startled touches from every Prime and T-2 to T-4 he'd had any decently warm relationship with, from Capella Prime to his own nephew at Callisto—

And a great big deal of confusion and befuddlement from the dragon between his legs and the Weyrwoman in front of him.

_Did something follow us through _between?Lessa wondered at him.

Belatedly, Ramoth bugled out a challenge at whatever enemy had these powerful minds riled up, but found no enemy near them when she and her rider searched. Dragons in the Weyr below bellowed up a confirmation that all was well—except for their odd behavior.

_I'm—I'm fine,_ Afra sent to all the minds reaching for him in an odd, wan little voice.

_WHAT HAPPENED?!_ Jeff Raven demanded.

_Um. Nothing._ Afra said in a bland tone, so strangely devoid of emotion that it was full of it, by virtue of being so understated. _I'm not dead. No...no, I'm not._

_My fucking god, Afra!_ Gollee said. _We lost you for eight seconds! Like you didn't exist!_ There was a sense that these sorts of nightmares were what kept an Earth Tower twic like Gollee up at night.

_Well yes,_ Lessa said to all the minds about them, her voice a baffled counterpart to the reigning anger and relief of the others. _That's what _between_ is. How can you not know what _between_ is?_

_ —Like one of those god-damned cargo ships that get thrown into a sun or black hole!_ Gollee said, still emoting the nerve-wracking moments he'd just went through when he'd lost contact with Afra.

_I am fine,_ Afra said to those who were with him, pushed up against his mind almost like he was in a merge. _I—I am. Really. Thank you for your concern._

There was a command from Jeff Raven, and all but he, Rowan, Damia, and Gollee left.

_What happened?_ Jeff asked, with less shouting, but no less concern.

Afra began to try to formulate a reply—

—but as Ramoth swung around the Weyr to make her descent, his hands had become numb and he tilted sideways and began to fall off of Ramoth's neck without any way to stop it.

#

When Afra Lyon become conscious again, he was on his back near a lake with a huge golden dragon hovering over him, a bronze dragon of nearly the same size, a tiny leather-clad woman, a leather clad man, and other assorted people in strange Pernese clothing staring down.

Next to him was Gollee Gren. In fact, Gollee Gren had his hands on Afra's temples.

Then Gollee moved one to his throat.

Then his chest and abdomen.

Then back up to his head.

Afra could feel his body responding to the adjustments the other Talent was making.

Finally Gollee looked Afra in the eye, anger glimmering there, and said in a dead-flat tone: "If I hadn't just undone what you did to yourself, you would be dead."

A drink box from the cache they diplomatic team had brought with themselves as backup in case of inability to eat the local food appeared in Gren's hands. Gollee stabbed a straw through it, then Afra felt himself levered somewhat into a sitting position by Gollee's telekinesis. "Drink this," Gollee said, and put the straw in his mouth.

Afra did, and as the glucose and electrolytes and other metabolism-friendly molecules were absorbed by his system, he felt coherent thought and energy begin to return.

_Gren,_ Earth Prime said, expectantly.

_He put his own metabolism in an alternate state,_ Gollee Gren reported to those who were listening. _Or he has an exceedingly peculiar previously unknown medical condition that spontaneously decided to manifest now, but the former is most likely especially since I could reverse it._

_Why?_ Earth Prime asked, calmly. His earlier emotions were firmly behind shields.

_You'd need to ask him, Prime._

It was too difficult for Afra to immediately string two of his own thoughts together, so he recited his training, somewhat machine-like: _In the event of a catastrophic environmental breech that exposes an individual to hard vacuum, such as both the outer and inner Callisto domes being hit by a meteorite or warhead, a telekinetic can prolong life and higher reasoning capabilities by creating a skin-tight pressure hold via telekinesis, and by reducing their metabolic needs to—_

_ —I forgot the pressure hold,_ he blurtedin a burst of dismay. _None of it matters; had it been what I thought it was, I would be dead._

_Do you understand what he's talking about, Gren?_ Jeff asked.

Between_ is hard vacuum,_ Damia told them.

Afra found himself nodding, grateful that Damia had understood him. _Yes. Teleporting _between_ is like traversing deep space in nothing but your skin. I did not know this. I was not prepared, and fell back on drill reflex._ A pause. _I have a firelizard to apologize to._

"What?" Lessa asked at the apparent non sequitur, cocking her head to the side.

"Oh," Gollee said in understanding.

"What happened?" Lessa repeated. "Ramoth and I came out of _between_, and Master Lyon was with us. But everyone was in an uproar—but _why?_ It was a standard jump _between_, no complications. Not until this, at least."

Gollee Gren briefly closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "I apologize, Weyrwoman. The cavalry appearing was my fault. I had a light touch on Afra's mind as the two of you left. I knew you were going to teleport. But when I felt Afra vanish entirely from my senses, I reacted. I thought the jump had gone bad, and I requested help from the Primes to do a search for all of you, in case you had completed the jump somewhere beyond my range.

"For us, teleportation is instantaneous, and if a throw goes bad you have only seconds to correct it if it's not already too late. There is no time lost..._between_, as you call it. You are at point A and then you are at some other point B whether it's the correct one or not." He looked down at Afra again. "But the torpor is Afra's fault. We telepathic telekinetics have a few tricks up our sleeves when it comes to being suddenly exposed to vacuum. Afra Lyon used to live on an airless moon, and knows the emergency protocols for that type of hostile environment.

"Afra implemented one of those protocols, but didn't undo it when you all came out of _between_, likely because we were all shouting at him and being a distraction, which is why he tried to go skydiving off the back of a dragon in flight once his metabolic state couldn't keep him conscious." He pinned Afra with another sharp gaze. _Just because I understand why you did the torpor thing doesn't mean I forgive you for nearly dying on me,_ Gollee sent him privately.

_I was a fool,_ Afra sent, feeling a shiver go through him. He felt displaced, simultaneously locked within his body and staring out of his eyes like they were windows, and too open from the awareness he still felt on him from multiple minds.

_Shut up. We love you to bits and are glad you're alive. But damn, when things go wrong with you they really go wrong. I probably would have just shit my pants if I'd thought the 'port went bad._

Afra didn't believe this for a second; Gollee had called in Primes to search for Afra in a split second, and would likely act with such acumen for himself.

_I don't know that vacuum stuff like you do._ And Gollee sent Afra such a strong shaft of brotherly affection that Afra felt unaccustomed tears sting his eyes, having known no such affection from any of his own brothers.

_Never do that again to me, Afra,_ Rowan told him. _Or I'll chain you to my Tower and never let you leave me again!_

—_and I will come and kill you a second time,_ Jeff promised.

Damia just enfolded him in love and relief without saying a word.

Afra felt himself begin to blush an embarrassed red at the outpouring of unfettered affection. He didn't try to stop the flushing in his cheeks as he usually would; it would require adjusting things in his body, and look where _that_ had gotten him just moments ago.

"Is there anything our Healers can do?" a man who looked quite similar to F'lar asked.

"How are you feeling, Afra?" Gollee asked.

"Better, after this," Afra said, and drained the drink before 'porting the container into the trash in the Diplomatic capsule. Then he sat forward, free of Gollee's supporting kinetic projection, and began to climb to his feet. _Thank you,_ he sent to Gren.

Once Afra was on his feet, he bowed very, very deeply to Weyrwoman Lessa. (He also felt Gollee's telekinetic support lest he loose his balance and strength and fall. He did neither.) "I don't know how I can properly make amends for making such a commotion on my first ride _between_, but if there's any way I can make it up to you, please let me know, Weyrwoman Lessa. I hope this has not damaged our relationship."

Lessa crossed her arms and stood up straighter, studying him for a long moment. Then she said, "You neither throttled me or grabbed my chest. In that spirit, I would say that you fulfilled my request, and that nothing has changed—provided you are still willing to teach me."

Teach? He'd forgotten a basic safety protocol upon panicking _between_, and forgotten to undo his torpor upon entering normal space again. He was not fit to teach. "I believe that Gollee Gren might—"

"That it's possible to teleport—or go _between_—in two very different ways is clearly not something any of us anticipated," Lessa said. "I've found in the Weyr, personal experience of these types of mistakes is the best teacher, so long as you survive them, and you have clearly just had an experience. No offense meant to Master Gren as I'm sure he's perfectly capable, but I would hold you to your promise."

"No offense taken," Gollee Gren interjected.

Afra bowed very deeply to the Weyrwoman. "As you wish, Lady Lessa. We could still begin today."

Surprise crossed her features. "I'm not so callous as to demand that a man multiple people think nearly died immediately must begin teaching me things. But perhaps we can recuperate by sitting down somewhere comfortable and chatting?"

Afra nodded. "It would be my pleasure."

"And do you need a Healer?"

He shook his head. "No. Not as long as I keep my internal chemistry in balance. I may need to eat or drink more."

"Food and drink can be provided. Brekke?"

One of the hovering Pernese women said, "Yes?"

"Can you speak to Manora?"

"I will," and the woman turned away quickly, lifting her skirts to allow quicker steps as she crossed the Weyrbowl.

Brekke. One of the dragonless people, Afra realized. She looked quite normal, but also had a shield—unlike most people—around her mind preventing him from picking up anything. Firelizards followed her as she walked away.

"Great. Master Lyon—would you be up for another ride, one that doesn't involve _between_?"

Afra felt a sudden hitch in his insides. Fear. But it was a reasonable, predictable fear, one that would only grow if he let it.

He didn't let it. "I would be."

Gollee squeezed his arm. "I need to return to Fort."

Afra nodded. A moment later, Gollee vanished, and people gasped to see a man vanish like a dragon—without the dragon.

F'lar, who had been letting his mate handle things, chuckled. "I will return to Fort too."

So as people began to disperse, Afra followed Lessa back over to Ramoth, and climbed up again.

_We will not let you fall,_ the queen said in her strange echo-voice.

_Thank you,_ Afra said. _I won't let me fall this time, either._

_#_

**Author's Notes:** As an aside, I have some more mature fic on AO3 that I won't be posting here. Link on my profile page.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

When Ramoth leapt once again into the air, and Master Lyon was a warm presence at her back, Lessa found herself fretting behind firm shields. That response—those minds! Not only the ones she had known about, such as Jeff Raven and Gollee Gren—but so many more. Available in an instant, thick with fear for Master Lyon, and poised to do anything to rescue him.

(What did they think _she_ would have done to him? And had it been an irrational fear for a loved one—or the fear of a people who expected foul play?)

She'd only seen such a reaction before from dragons, when one of their own was injured in a manner that needed aid, and the space between thoughts became thick with dragon's chatter as the coordinated the rescue.

And now all of those Talented minds had reached out all the way to Pern. _Knew_ where Pern was, as she suspected many of them hadn't quite known before. As unfathomable as dragons could sometimes be, even to dragonriders, the thought of human intelligences consulting _en masse_ in an instant flash of thought and emotion unnerved her.

And their response time was _fast_.

It boggled that Talents could go _between_...without going through _between_. What she'd thought was a clever timing trick in the demonstration, the type dragons themselves did during the worst and windiest threadfalls, was not.

(Did Pern have that advantage? That they could travel _whens_ when these star-people could not? She wondered if it were too late to suppress the information that dragons could time it, or even possible now, given it was common knowledge on Pern thanks to the Harpers.)

(...oh, Robinton, and his need to spread information! He _couldn't_ have known of course that any of this would happen, but _still_ there might have been an advantage to keep such knowledge in the Weyrs best they could.)

(...not that F'lar wouldn't have spread the information himself. He and the Harper saw eye-to-eye on such things.)

Men. She snorted softly to herself, although for the most part she agreed with them that information should be shared. The stubborn pride the drudges she'd lived amongst had had in Ruatha had been repugnant to her. There was no pride in ignorance. Or in keeping others ignorant so you seemed so much taller.

But she quickly put that out of mind. Now was not the time to linger in the past.

Now was the time to explore the future. With Master Lyon.

She and Ramoth both approved of how Master Lyon had chosen to get back on the dragon when any sane man would have been shaken by such an experience and might have turned a second ride down. Lessa almost regretted saying she would not ask a shaken man to teach; if he were shaken, he may let on things he hadn't intended to. And his fellow Talents and his Craftmaster might still withdraw his presence, given how upset they'd been. It might be wiser to press him for knowledge, to obtain as much as she could from him before he vanished.

Despite her insistent worries though, and the dark thoughts that told her to deal with them as she often had in the past, Lessa was no dimglow. There were some men you manipulated the information out of. The reluctant, suspicious ones. The ones that looked at her, and saw nothing but an upstart, tiny woman who'd abandoned her Hold to but a babe with thin Blood ties to Ruatha. (Oddly enough, they were often more concerned about Jaxom's Blood being thin, and not who his sire had been.)

Afra Lyon was not one of those men, though. He offered to teach her of his own free will, as far as she could ascertain. He offered to teach when perhaps he even shouldn't, according to the wishes of his Craftmaster. He reminded her in a way of F'nor, but also of Master Robinton. She'd long admired how F'nor had aided his half-brother staunchly, and there was little doubt as to how much Robinton had aided her and F'lar. You did not pressure such allies like you might a person worthy of less respect. You courted them, as she'd seen her father do, long ago.

Ramoth landed them on the wide ledge before the cave opening of the weyr, and Lessa unfastened herself from the safety straps, and indicated to Master Lyon that he should do the same. (She often rode without straps for jaunts like this, but after the last hour's events, they'd all chosen to take the safest course.) Then she slid off of her beloved queen, and watched as the Talent maneuvered a long leg over Ramoth's neck and paused for a moment, surveying the drop before him.

"Forgive me for not offering a hand down," Lessa said up to him. "I've found it usually makes the dismount more confusing than not, and if you do stumble Ramoth is faster than I at catching."

"No forgiveness is needed, Weyrwoman," Afra said in his pleasant tenor voice. Then he carefully slid down the neck to land on Ramoth's waiting forearm, before stepping from there to the ground. It wasn't a bad first dismount. She knew blueriders of experience who dismounted less gracefully. Afra said, "As I understand it, I owe my life to Ramoth's skilled flying when I dropped." And he turned to Ramoth and made a deep bow. "Thank you."

_I've never dropped a passenger,_ the queen said. _Today was not the day to start. And it would have displeased Lessa if you could not teach her your ballads._

Lessa blinked at Ramoth, torn between surprise at her verbosity to another person, and chagrin that Ramoth had chosen to state Lessa's goals in her typically blunt draconic way.

_He does not take offense,_ Ramoth said, tilting her head down at her. Then she turned to look at the Talent. _Does he?_

_You don't know?_ Lessa asked her friend privately with interest.

Ramoth answered privately. She wasn't sure how she knew it, but she did. _He is contained. Like Brekke. Like you—sometimes._

"My purpose here has always been for communication and the sharing of knowledge," Afra Lyon said. "That you're open to this too is not offensive." A small smile crossed his lips, easily missed if she hadn't been watching him for physical clues in the absence of mental ones or Ramoth's observations.

"You talk like a Harper," Lessa said wryly.

"He seems like a good man."

"He is one of the best," Lessa admitted. Then, remembering not to take Afra's arm—although she realized it would be a difficult habit to break, as it felt impolite not to—she gestured at him to follow her into the huge cavernous mouth of the entryway that led to her and F'lar's quarters. Behind them, Ramoth sighed and found the warmest part of the ledge to stretch out on. They would return relatively soon to Fort Weyr, so Ramoth did not ask and Lessa did not offer for the riding straps to be removed just yet.

Afra paced next to Lessa down the long cavern, matching his long stride to hers much better than she would have expected. Although his face held an expression of blank geniality, she watched as he evidenced interest in his surroundings, yellow eyes darting here and there. They were a few shades lighter than F'lar's, she thought.

"This is the Weyrwoman's weyr," Lessa said. "Presently four of us make it our home; myself, Weyrleader F'lar, golden Ramoth, and bronze Mnementh. You can see to the left the dragon's couches. It's a bit dark, but don't worry, the floor is very even, made so by the mysterious ways of our ancestors—although I suspect you people from the Nine Stars could do just as well—so you will not trip. There's a glowpot here that will give us some light to see by—" and in the shadows just beyond the reach of the light streaming in from the entrance, Lessa reached up and slid a glowpot open, casting a welcome greenish light onto them. She noticed with surprise that by the light of glows, Afra did not look so alien-hued. Or perhaps, her skin just took the same shade as his in this light. She found this amusing, and so did Ramoth who made a sound behind them outside.

A second later, she opened a door and led them into the sitting room, repeating her effort of opening glowpots until the room was very well-lit.

Master Lyon paused politely by the door. "Would you like me to take my footwear off, Weyrwoman?" he asked.

Lessa blinked, and looked at his feet. He wore shoes—not boots like most men—of a peculiar shiny leather. If they were leather at all. She wouldn't have been surprised if the only dirt they'd ever seen was that of the weyrbowl today, which made his worry all the more peculiar. "You may if you wish?" she said, half permission, half question.

Afra chose to bend over and remove his shoes, placing them neatly near the door before stepping onto one of the rugs. "Is this not a tradition with the Pernese?"

Lessa laughed, and as she removed her riding gear—and her boots with it—she said, "No, it's not, as stone floors can be quite cold, but I'm sure if we could manage to convince riders to do this, the lower cavern would be very grateful and spend less time beating the rugs each month."

"Those poor rugs," Afra said.

For a moment, Lessa was not at all certain how serious he was being, but then she caught that subtle smile again.

The Talent stood and watched her as she tugged on a cord to request food for two, and then as she brought out glasses. "Wine or water?" she offered, filling her cup with the former. It was slightly early for wine, but after the scare they'd had, she didn't think something soothing would be amiss.

"Whichever," Afra said. "I've no preference."

Lessa poured wine into his glass—a fine Benden wine Master Robinton would have salivated over—and then brought the glasses, the wineskin, and herself over to the other side of the room where several sofas and chairs surrounded a low table. "Please, be seated." She placed his glass on the table in front of one of the sofas, and then took the chair facing it on the other side. "You are familiar with wine, yes?"

"I am. My home planet is famous for its wines, although not in the region I grew up in, and I was not actually exposed to it until I'd come to Earth as a young man." Afra hitched up the thighs of his pants and gingerly settled himself, the couch creaking under his weight. Afra was nowhere as wide as Fanderal, but neither was he as gaunt as Robinton. He didn't have the developed arms and chest of a dragonrider, either. It was almost as if whatever mass he did have had been cultivated consciously, not during the course of practicing his Craft, but in despite of it. In fact, she realized it reminded her of the physiques some of the non-rider companions to blue- and greenriders had. Here in the greenish light of glows, he was an almost disconcertingly pretty man.

Behind shields, her musings on where his particular type of physique came from perturbed her for a moment, although she really had no right to be perturbed, since such tendencies, if he had them, would not affect her or their relationship at all. Then she waved the thoughts out of her mind. She was no Holder or Crafter, to be bothered by such things. It was beneath her, really. She returned her thoughts to the topic at hand. "Our Mastervintners would be very curious, I'm sure, to know if Pernese wine holds up against yours then." Then she said, "I did not know _between_ would affect you so."

"I apologize—" he began.

She held up a hand to forestall it. To her surprise, he immediately heeded the gesture, when many men would continue talking over her. Lessa filed this information away, and took advantage of his pause and said, "If I can be bold, Master Lyon, I think you might be the sort of person to apologize too much when something is not your fault. I brought it up again only because you hadn't had even one apology from me, for all of yours that you have tried to voice. So I wish to convey _my_ apologies to _you_. It did not even occur to me that our _between_ might be different from your _teleport_. And it should have. I did see your demonstration this morning, after all. I just did not put the facts together."

The man was inscrutable behind shields for a moment. Then he said, "I don't feel as if you have to apologize to me, Weyrwoman. But I do accept it, for what it is." He hesitated. "There are other...questions I have, about the way Talent is used on Pern and how I am used to seeing it used. I don't believe it's vital we discuss it now, but in light of what occurred earlier, it may be wise to discuss such things as soon as we both feel comfortable doing so, in case there are other differences that might cause other missteps."

Lessa's thoughts immediately went again to Robinton, and that day when she'd caused him pain unintentionally. "I agree." But before she could perhaps reassess the possibility of them talking about Talent now, off to the side there was a rattle, and Lessa quickly rose to gather up their mid-day meal. "I was told you should eat—is that always the cure for stresses of Talent? We did the same for Master Robinton, you know—so I took the liberty of calling something up. How has Pernese food been treating you so far?"

"Quit well. However, perhaps I should warn you that our delegation expects to come down sick within the next few days. Unrelated to the food."

"Oh?" Lessa asked, raising her eyebrows. How could one predict getting sick? "Does the Masterhealer know of this?"

"That's a good question," Afra said. "I'll ask the rest of our group when I can. It's likely one of our scientists would have mentioned it to him by now."

"So you can predict sickness? Is that one of your Talents?"

Afra shook his head. "No. Just history. It's quite common when two human populations that have been separated for a very long time will have disease which one group has become immune to and hardly notices anymore, but is rapidly picked up by the newcomers who have no such resistance."

Lessa frowned. "So am I to become ill as well?"

He shook his head again. "Unlikely, Weyrwoman. We went through strict quarantine and decontamination procedures prior to our visit here. However, if somehow something does spread despite our efforts, we will offer our medical technology—our Healing skills—to eradicate it. If, on the other hand, you or other Pernese ever came to Earth or one of the other Nine Star League planets, it _is_ likely that at that point you _would_ fall ill for a time."

"What if your Healers are unable to eradicate it? Plagues do happen." Quite often, on Pern, if the ballads were of any indication.

_Do they?_ Afra asked.

Lessa gave a nod, and reinforced her shields. Or at least, she hoped she did, to the extent that her thoughts were opaque to this man.

Then after a brief pause, he said, "I am not a doctor, but the only diseases which can still be tricky for our Healers to eliminate are congenital ones. That is, defects a person is born with. It's been a very long time since any naturally evolved disease has harmed any significant percent of the human population. Deneb is the only case I can think of in recent history, and it was due to the aliens who attacked the colony specifically manufacturing novel diseases to decimate the population."

Lessa stared at him. Manufacturing disease? Using it as a weapon? She shuddered. A talk with the Masterhealer would soon be in order. "And that's only happened on this world called Deneb?"

Afra solemnly nodded.

"How do I know you tell me the truth?"

At this question, Afra extended a hand to her, palm up.

She looked at it. "What is this?"

"We Talents often do not touch. It leads for a deeper reading, as I've said before. But it can also allow another to ascertain what is truth and what is not."

Lessa gave a small snort, and did not take his hand. "I'll take you at your word for now, Master Lyon."

He gave her a brief nod she took as respect for the trust she was giving him, and withdrew his hand.

Then there was a soft rattle, and the scent of hot food, as their meal arrived.

"Is that a dumbwaiter?" Afra asked.

"A what?" Lessa asked, going over to retrieve their meal.

"A machine or mechanism of pulleys in a shaft that lifts small objects between floors. Usually food."

She hefted the plates up, then gave him a brief look. Of course it was; what else would it be? She'd just taken food out of it!

"I mean, is it man-powered? Or powered by water, or...electricity?" he clarified.

She set their plates on either side of the table, and sat across from him. "It's woman-powered, I suppose. Or maybe drudge, although it's unlikely Manora would put our meal in a drudge's hands after what happened _last_ time," Lessa said, recalling _that_ disaster. "There are wheels and pulleys in the shaft, and the Smithing is strong enough to hold a child's weight." Or small woman's . She had tested it once. Which is why there was a grate over most of the opening that was only unlocked by a key from this side. She'd had it made after learning how easily it was to sneak from queenrider's weyr to queenrider's weyr through the unguarded hatches to escape R'gul's watchful eye in her younger days. "Tell me how one might deliver food by water, or lightning."

So over the meal, instead of discussing Talent, they discussed Smithing, although Afra Lyon claimed he was no true Smith, and his experience had only encompassed what was needed to keep a Hold on an airless _moon_ running.

She'd arched an eyebrow at _that_ attempt at modesty, and after he realized what he'd said, to her delight he'd dropped his cool facade just long enough to utter a wry laugh and slowly walk her through Smithing concepts that he said were taught to the merest _babes_ in the Nine Star League.

Babes! The most _stupid_ child in the Nine Star League learned these amazing things like they were nothing. She wondered if these people even knew what they had.

Having been denied even the most basic Harper education in the years she'd hidden in her family's Hold at Ruatha, Lessa harbored something of a thirst for knowledge, although it had been difficult to indulge in it once she'd learned what was deemed acceptable for a Weyrwoman to know. She'd gone to the Smithcrafthall once, only to have them flutter around her and summon Master Fanderal. And Fanderal, genius that he was, didn't have the gift of teaching the basics like Robinton did. He flitted from topic to topic, agile mind fitting together concepts too arcane for her to understand without first being given the basics.

And of course while Robinton was an incredibly gifted teacher, his knowledge of Smithing was mainly centered on what was needed to for instrument-making, or to keep his Hall heated, aerated, and with running water, or what was needed to maintain flamethrowers. The latter she understood better than he did. The ones she and Ramoth used for threadfall were far more advanced than the ones ground-based crews used. There was no way she could reasonably ask him to learn what she wanted to know, only to have him teach her in turn. He had his Hall to run, and they already asked so much of him.

So around and 'round she went, unable to get a depth of knowledge from those willing to teach, and unable to be adequately tutored with minimal fuss from those who were skilled.

Again, she found herself somewhat grateful that this Afra Lyon seemed willing to share what he knew, without any silly waffling over rank, preconceptions of her sex, or even much political jockeying. It seemed in many ways too good to be true—but as long as it lasted, she intended to learn as much as she could of the Nine Star League, the Talents, and all their ways.

#

_What is "between"?_ Damia, out of nowhere, demanded, loudly enough that it pierced through shields that Menolly had been maintaining.

"What?" Menolly said.

"I didn't say anything?" Piemur said from across the table, raising his head from his work to give her a look. Farli, on his shoulder, also chirped a question. "Or did I?"

"No. Nevermind," Menolly quickly said, and turned back to the hides she was copying her newest song to. _Damia?_

_Yes, it's me,_ Damia said, not sounding too unlike Mirrim at her most harried. _You people took Afra _between_. What is this "between"? It's vacuum, right? That's what Afra thought it was._

_I don't know what "vacuum" is,_ Menolly confessed after a moment.

Surprise, swirly and blue. _But I thought you were a student? Isn't that what a Journeyman is? Don't students learn about vacuum? It's basic science..._ Inadequately contained, Menolly also heard a thought, _Are Pernese really that backwards?_

Stung, Menolly replied, _Perhaps we're too busy trying not to be devoured by thread to fuss about with toys!_

Damia's touch vanished for a moment, and Menolly immediately felt remorse. She didn't actually think the things she'd seen from the Nine Star League were "toys", any more than she thought her Harpering was nothing more than mindless entertainment like her family might like to believe. Knowledge was valuable. But still: wasn't it somewhat rude to let someone know you thought they were backwards? Most of her songs dealt with trying to remedy the ignorance of those not well-connected to one of the large Holds or Crafthalls, and it grated to realize that her task might be even more monumental than she realized, if a _child_ like this could so easily sneer at their accomplishments.

Then Damia said, _I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I grew up—am growing up, really—on a planet that's...that's sort of like what yours might be like in one of your Long Intervals. Deneb bad a terrible tragedy a generation ago with disease and bombs raining from the sky. I can't imagine what it would be like if that kept coming back over and over the moment you thought you'd just gotten rid of it forever. Especially if you've no Tower to keep importing specialist teachers to replace the ones that you lost and help rebuild things that were lost. _We've_ been set back three generations, a third of us are orphans, and I guess if—_the thought abruptly didn't complete, but this time Menolly didn't hear what it might have been. There was another pause, and then Damia changed the subject. _"Between" doesn't hurt anyone permanently, does it? _Damia asked, worry coming through clearly. _Afra went _between_ and we thought he'd died—_

Menolly felt her heart leap to her throat. He'd almost died? When? How? _What do you mean? _

_He vanished from our heads, and we couldn't find him!_

"Beauty," Menolly said to her friend. "Where's Master Lyon?" She pictured the strange tall man for the firelizard.

Beauty lifted her head, chirped, and sent an image of Benden Weyr.

"Wait, why are you sending Beauty to Master Lyon?" Piemur asked suspiciously.

Menolly felt a surge of irritation. "I'm not. And it's none of your business," she said curtly.

He made a face, but was wise enough not to press beyond giving her another _look_ that was going to become old fast. She wondered if she'd need to ask Master Robinton to have a word with them. Then she decided she wouldn't bother Robinton with it. She'd handle Piemur herself if it came to it!

But enough about that. _Damia,_ Menolly thought. _He's in Benden Weyr._

_I know that _now_,_ Damia said. _But he vanished for eight seconds. Does that always happen? When you go _between_?_

_Why, yes,_ Menolly said. _If a dragon goes _between_, it takes the time to cough thrice before they're elsewhere. Same for a firelizard._

_That's very strange,_ Damia said. _When we teleport something, it's instant._

_You're not dragons,_ Menolly pointed out sensibly.

_I suppose not. But I wonder how that works? I almost want to try it, see if I can teleport something _between_ style, but I'm pretty sure everyone will have my head if I try..._

_Why's that?_ Menolly asked.

_I had a...an incident, when I was very small. I almost teleported into vacuum, and Afra saved me—he showed me how to teleport correctly at the last second. But it's why we all got sent to Deneb. It's a real planet, with air and water and earth. Mom and Dad weren't comfortable having us on an airless moon, in case we 'ported outside the domes and suffocated._

Menolly caught Damia's age at that time: three. _I think most people do silly things when small,_ she said.

Damia sent a smile. _I'm still "small" from their perspective!_

_But you can't be too much younger than I am,_ Menolly thought at her in shock.

_A few basic years I think,_ Damia said. _Not many._

_Surely you're a Journeyman Talent, at least?_ Menolly said. _Able to further your own education? When we're Journeymen Harpers, we're allowed independent study. Some Harpers stay Journeymen their entire lives, but still contribute greatly to our Craft._

_Our schooling is a bit different. We don't start true independent study until we're in our twenties! If at all. We're still learning our basics!_

Really? The basics? Many women Damia's age were married, or promised to be married in a few turns, and working on putting together chests of necessities, like furs and linens and little decorative tapestries. Menolly wasn't, but she was not the norm. _You're still learning your teaching ballads then?_ Menolly asked, trying to wrap her head around tutoring a group of twenty-somethings like they were little children. She felt like she was very much missing something.

The other girl tried to explain. _I think I'd like it better if we sung all our lessons,_ Damia said. _But we do mathematics, and history, and science, and—_

As Menolly listened to the list of subjects Damia rattled off, accompanied by small memories, feelings, visions, and thoughts (so much clearer than any firelizard's!) she thought of the dense little books Earth Prime had sent them (which she'd gone through several times, having difficulty understanding many of the concepts), and began to realize that maybe Pernese _were_ really backwards. If the people from the Stars had to learn _so much more_ it took them into their twenties to get a "basic" education, she, Menolly, who had completed most of hers by the time she was fourteen, must look absolutely moronic! _I guess we do look rather dim,_ she said, and suddenly fretted about how slow her people must look to Master Lyon and the rest of the star men with him.

_You could ask Afra Lyon to teach you,_ Damia said.

Menolly felt mortified. There were so many people, all of them higher-ranking, who would need his time. Master Robinton, for one! And Benden Weyr, and Fort Weyr, and all the Weyrs, really—

_You're right,_ Damia said. _I forgot how busy he must be now, as a Diplomat. He always had time for me. Maybe...I could teach you? I could teach you what's in my lessons, and you could make ballads_—

Menolly felt herself chew her lip for a moment. She recalled both Robinton and Earth Prime not exactly allowing Menolly to be taught at right this moment.

_I suppose I shouldn't teach you Talent—Afra or Gollee should do that—but I don't see why I couldn't show you what just about every single regular person in the Nine Star League knows,_ Damia said persuasively. _It's not secret knowledge. Everyone knows it!_

_Every single person?_

_Education is universal. I don't see why Pernese shouldn't be taught too._

Somehow, despite other indicators that the men from the stars weren't specifically here to harm the Pernese, Menolly found herself trusting Damia much more. Damia, she could sense, was just as curious about them as Menolly was about her. And an exchange seemed sensible.

_Then I should teach you, too,_ Menolly said eventually. _But what would you want to know?_

_Tell me about firelizards! I looked through some of their eyes, and—_

#

Gollee Gren stared at the threadfall map in his hands. He held it gingerly, as the smooth feel of the vellum underneath his fingertips, and the sweeping lines of script told some vestige of a grubby little boy in him that he was handling a museum piece from a bygone era, and that he should be very careful not to spill anything, or drool on it, or leave stains from his sweaty palms, or sneeze on—

Almost as if it had a mind of its own, Gollee felt an insistent tickle in his nose. He suppressed it, snorting in once, softly, and blinked rapidly as he tried to focus on what N'ton and F'lar were telling him about threadfall.

For a moment, he thought he had it mastered the urge, and began to engage them on this important topic. "So the pattern changed? Do you know why it changed?" he asked, for if he knew anything about heavenly bodies from all his years of throwing cargo around the universe, it was that they were quite fixed in their routes.

F'lar leaned forward, his amber eyes, a shade darker than Afra's, intent. "Wansor, our Starsmith—"

Gren found himself abruptly pulling away from F'lar, only to release a sudden, explosive sneeze off to the side instead of in the Weyrleader's face. "Excuse me!" he said, wondering as he did so if the Pernese had any customs about sneezing that maybe he should know.

"Are you all right?" N'ton asked, as F'lar conjured a handkerchief—a real cloth one—from somewhere and passed it to Gren. "Let me get you some klah—"

Gollee didn't say no, but instead thankfully took the cloth and sniffed, concentrating on the sudden stinging in his sinuses...and how they were now running. He was also starting to have a mild fever—damn early, in his opinion. They'd been here less than twenty-four hours! What was he, a bubble boy? Gren reached out to Afra—

—and had the abrupt sense Afra was already speaking to the Weyrwoman about this very thing. So he pulled back without saying anything to his friend, and accepted the mug of klah that N'ton proffered. It smelled of chocolate, cinnamon, and coffee. What was it with humanity and delicious brown beverages? He had had wine with his previous meals, so this Pernese drink was new to him. He cautiously tasted it, and realized that _this_ was what some of the "Pernese" scent he'd noticed since arriving on the planet came from. Klah. Klah, and firelizards, and dragons.

What did Terrans smell like to the Pernese, he wondered? He shoved the irrelevant thought aside, particularly since there was a good chance each of their team had a different scent, stemming from the planets and cultures and foods they were exposed to, and took a deeper drink. The warmth felt good in his throat. "Thank you, Weyrleader N'ton, Weyrleader F'lar. I suppose I should take a moment to make a brief note about the health of me and my peers, if our Diplomats and scientists haven't already told you—"

#

The Rowan paused late that night (long after the scare they'd had that day with Afra!) when she was making a cup of tea for herself. She didn't quite have her mother-in-law Isthia's long ear—something that she both regretted and was relieved about in turns, depending on her mood and the time of the month—but occasionally like any Prime, she had a hunch.

Stirring a bit of honey into her tea, she opened her mind and listened carefully to her hunch, just to reassure herself that nothing more had happened to Afra, or to Gren, or to Jeff or anyone. And a moment later, she noticed her youngest daughter conversing. Almost private—but not quite.

It seemed, at first, just schoolwork. Very basic things, which Damia had long since mastered with ease. (Although Damia's mischief often perplexed her, she'd always been glad it stemmed from being _too_ smart, and not because she had trouble understanding concepts.)

Then she wondered—who, exactly, would Damia be explaining these things to? Certainly not Larak, who had also long since mastered them.

In fact, the way Damia spoke reminded Rowan of someone who was explaining things to a very sheltered person. A very sheltered female. Not only did she explain basic concepts, but she kept going off on tangents about a million other basic concepts, as if the person she spoke to had no frame of reference for anything in the modern world.

And, Rowan realized, the other person _was_ female.

She was _female_.

Rowan felt a moment of excitement. Damia had always gotten along better with boys and men—echoing a trait that Rowan herself possessed, and one that Rowan didn't much like (even if she'd never been able to much change it in herself). If Damia had finally found a _female_ friend and peer...

Then Rowan heard the name _Robinton_. Which was the context she needed.

Damia was speaking to someone on Pern. But who?

Until now, Rowan had only vaguely listened in to Damia's half of the conversation, mostly to just reassure herself that even if Damia would go weeks without talking to her directly about anything, that Damia herself was doing well. But if Pern was involved...she felt a pang of frustration that Damia was up to something again...then laughed to herself. Wasn't it very typical of her daughter to find her first female friend in exactly the wrong place!

Operating on a band she didn't think her Talented daughter knew quite yet, she reached out to actively listen in on the conversation for a moment.

The first thing she felt was the other female's mind.

It was a very...peculiar mind. A strong telepath, no doubt, and empathic too, but operating on a strange band. Rowan had to...almost tune her mind a few degrees to the side from normal to hear her. This was, in fact, the reason she'd picked up Damia's discussion with the girl, for Damia was fairly adept at shielding these days on the typical bands.

_You can't just tell them to leave you alone,_ Damia advised the other girl. _It'll make it worse. That Piemur kid would be all over you for it, he's smart, Menolly._

_Piemur? How do you know about—heh. I suppose if anyone's mischief would be known to the stars, it would be Piemur's!_

Menolly's telepathic "voice" had something else odd to it that Rowan had to think about before she could put her finger on it. But then she realized: she sounded human.

Most people did not accurately portray themselves telepathically, at least if you considered one's physical voice to be the most "real". Capella Prime had a rather girlish mental voice, but in person, her voice was lower and more mellow, and it was clear she was past childbearing age. Peter Reidinger III had had almost a _lack_ of a timbre, and more an impression of immense power that translated itself to whatever suited him best depending on who he was talking to. People that were intimidated by masculine traits had perceived him as very masculine. People who responded more to fatherly traits perceived him as fatherly. And so on.

Afra Lyon was the only person that Rowan knew who sounded the "same" no matter if he spoke telepathically and verbally, something likely connected to how reflective he was. And in this, Menolly was like him: she had an unusual awareness of what a human voice sounded like, and how to reproduce it mentally. In fact, Menolly's mind was _very_ audible. Many humans thought in abstract shapes and images and half-words, but Menolly's mind was rich in _sound_. In that way, she was very _different_ from Afra, for Afra very often filtered himself so that you only heard his "voice" and little else, and Menolly seemed to have a shifting array of sub-thoughts and notes in her mental touch...

For a moment, Rowan felt unsettled. It was _almost_ as if she were listening to Cera and hearing a bit of Jeran, or vice versa, except multiplied. As if Menolly were the center of a very strange merge...human, but somehow not quite...

Rowan reached further, and a moment later, determined that this Menolly was mentally attached to firelizards. Not just one, like Master Robinton's Zair whom had so enchanted Afra, but _nine_.

Well. _That_ was a unique situation. Rowan stirred her tea until she realized she was creating a miniature hurricane in her teacup, then smiled wryly to herself, stopped creating the wee tempest, and took a sip. Unique—but really, rather suitable. Rowan did not know if this Menolly was just a telepath, or a full Tower Talent, but even so, Damia likely would at least not be able to push her around telepathically.

Abruptly, Rowan decided not to tell Jeff. In a matter such as this, he would be forced to put his Earth Prime hat on, and discipline their daughter. Too much politically was at stake, as evidenced by that miserable paperwork that had been done when Lessa had reached out to contact Afra in Damia's presence.

But what Jeff didn't know about, he couldn't act upon, and Rowan knew it was often children that bridged the gaps between cultures. Or..._between_ cultures, as it were.

Besides, Damia needed a female friend, and if she'd somehow managed to home in on a very powerful Pernese telepath that was bonded to nine little alien minds...surely that would keep in check? Another female that might be a peer in thought?

Rowan hoped so.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Quick note...I've some stories on AO3 (see link in my profile) that won't be posted here to ff dot net due to a higher rating. You may need to be logged into AO3 to see them, however.

Also, I respond to comments on AO3. And tend to post chapters there slightly sooner than here.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Seven days later, Nine Star League diplomatic team members were all very ill. Dutifully, they all gave cheek swabs, blood, and urine to the medical bot in the carrier they'd arrived in, where the computer could analyze any pathogens and antibodies (and indeed it found an impressive array of local bugs unprecedented on any human occupied planet but Earth itself, which made their collective skin crawl metaphorically as well as in some cases literally), and then they made their excuses to the Pernese for their sudden sicknesses, warily accepted advice from the crooked and bent but youthful-faced Pernese Masterhealer (for Pernese medicine seemed very backwards, and none of them wanted to accidentally be put through an alien leech blood-draining or the local equivalent) then they slept, shat, slept again, and attempted to figure out which local foods made the shitting worse, and which did not.

Gollee Gren, first to fall ill, was also the first to recover, and spent his first non-nauseated meal with the Weyrwomen and Weyrleaders of Fort and Benden speaking about threadfall again, now that he wasn't sneezing or bleary with increasing fever and painful cramps.

It turned out that the Pernese had a surprisingly good grasp of heavenly orbits, and indeed, like many early earth civilizations, had managed to build monuments all around Pern to bracket the Red Star when it was in range to drop threads over their planet. He was shown the ones at Fort and Benden Weyrs, and was also given an opportunity to look through a strangely modern-looking telescope at the surface of the Red Star.

"And you _teleported_ to this planet?" Gollee asked F'lar's brother, the brownrider F'nor, with respect.

"We went _between_," F'nor said quietly.

"And you lived."

"Minus some skin. Canth and I both survived, but we weren't much use to anyone for quite a while," and here F'nor rolled up a sleeve to display an arm that had an uneven texture to it, and Gollee Gren realized that the dragonrider's face wasn't just unusually weathered by rain, elements, and thin pale lines that indicated threadscore, but showed some signs of regrown skin too.

Mentally, Gren reached out to the Red Star. It was an arid hellhole, full of tornadic winds and sands and the quasi-living pods that thread emerged from when they entered Pern's atmosphere. He glanced at F'nor's arm again, and the underwhelming evidence of what had likely been a desperate struggle for life. It was amazing the man was alive. "If you're not a telekinetic, I'll eat my boots," Gollee commented thoughtfully. It's the only way the man could have escaped as unscathed as he had, with full use of his body and eyes.

Lessa said, "Are bets involving eating footwear common in the Nine Star League?"

Gollee felt a moment of panic, for there were plenty of taboos involving footwear and feet on Earth, and he hadn't been sure if such existed on Pern. Then he caught the tiny woman's jest in the tenor of her mind. "It's a time-honored tradition, when one loses a bet," Gollee said solemnly, but made certain to clearly broadcast the wry humor he was infusing that statement with. It was pleasant and both useful that every single dragonrider he'd met to date had been able to hear his telepathy clearly. ( Jeff Raven had also become more and more excited when Gollee relayed this back to him.)

The dragonriders obliged Gollee with smiles or chuckles. Talent aside, he sternly told himself that he should continue to be careful, no matter how affable or in many ways how Western European and relatively compatible with his own mindset they seemed as a culture. Because he was certain the moment he did was when he'd make his biggest mistake, telepathy or no.

"Why do you say I'm telekinetic?" F'nor asked. "I haven't demonstrated it so far," and his eyes flicked to F'lar for a second, before returning to Gren.

Jeff had mentioned F'lar had some Talent with microkinesis at least. "Because," Gollee said, "Losing so little skin that all you suffer from is a slightly uneven skin tone is a miracle compared to what should have happened...if I may be _very_ blunt." He glanced up at the sky briefly, touched the planet with his mind, and made some off-the-cuff calculations. "Given what I sense about that planet, you and your dragon should have been flayed entirely of skin. I do not know if dragons can survive such a thing, but humans cannot. Yet you are here, alive and not visibly handicapped, which we're all glad of."

"Yes," said Brekke with fervor. F'nor briefly squeezed his mate's shoulder.

Gollee continued, "It's incredibly common for Talent to manifest itself in times of stress, and a telekinetic of a T-9 level or higher, even an untrained one, should be able to instinctively mitigate the damage they'd receive from driving winds and sands. I don't see how you could be alive now, without that having happened." He paused. "Did you find out anything useful during your visit there?"

It was Weyrleader F'lar who shook his head in reply. "Only that we couldn't all fly _between_ and flame it directly from the surface," he said with mingled disgust and regret. Gollee had the sense that the Weyrleader knew burning it from the surface would have taken decades or centuries to complete if it had been possible to do in the first place, but at least would have been more _permanent_ than only attacking thread when it began to rain down on the planet's surface.

He wondered if scores of telekinetics working together could clean the space between planets, and the surface of the Red Star. It seemed likely, but when Gollee reached out again to estimate the total mass of the threads, he realized that the entire FT&T working together would need to shift an unfeasible amount of mass and it would take a very, very long time. Ordinarily, telekinetics assisted on terrestrial planets to rescue people from avalanches, mudslides, earthquakes, and other natural disasters. But even when a Prime or T-3 or T-4 like Gollee and Afra were working, the amount of mass actually moved in those cases were tiny fractions of what would be needed to move the debris and thread pods floating around the Rukbat system. The Talented mind could _span_ stars and planets as quick as thought. But it could not _move_ them. Even moving small asteroids around was relatively rare, and nobody had ever attempted to move a moon-sized object, or a small gassy object like a comet, much less a rogue rocky planet the size of the Red Star. Destroying and throwing Hiver ships into a sun was the most they'd done, and Gollee well remembered how shagged he'd been after that, feeding all his telekinetic energy in the male merge to Jeff Raven.

Not that (if Pern had been in _immediate_ danger) they wouldn't have tried to remove as much thread from the atmosphere as they could regardless. But the threat of thread was under control. Pern had an entire third of their society devoted to keeping it under control, and disrupting that was something that might have disastrous consequences.

Thread had fallen over Fort Weyr four days ago. But Gollee had been too sick to really pay attention at the time. They'd been warned repeatedly to stay indoors, and if that hadn't been enough, the heightened chaos of minds yabbering at other minds as the Weyr had readied itself for threadfall had cut through even the strongest dampeners that Jeff had sent them for their quarters, and klaxions had blurted dire warnings through vents into the stone rooms where they attempted to sleep off their fevers. It had made for some rather interesting nightmares for many members of their party. The ones that were still ill were not looking forward to a second bout of _that_.

Thread was due to fall again tomorrow in Fort's territory, which is why Gollee had chosen to speak to the Weyrleaders about it _now_. He wanted to have facts present in his mind as he observed this next fall without illness affecting his thoughts and perception. He didn't expect to have any _solutions_, but Talents were always in the business of alleviating human suffering, so he felt duty-bound to help the Weyrs explore what the FT&T might be able to contribute to the fight.

Gren realized that he'd been staring into space, thinking, and that the people around him were waiting for him to say something. So he said, "There is a lot of thread up there. I don't think that a Tower full of Talents could make any perceivable dent in it right away."

As his words registered, Gollee felt a collective dashing of hope, particularly from F'lar. It wasn't that the man had particularly had any rosy dreams of the FT&T solving their problem—but to hear it so bluntly from Gollee that the task was indeed as monumental as they'd known it was, even to a people who could do such amazing things, was sobering.

Lessa, who had been listening quietly, shifted in her seat. "So your FT&T isn't all-powerful, after all."

"I never said it was," Gollee said mildly. "Nor would I expect Afra to have implied that."

The woman just smiled slightly, and he realized her words had been more for the Weyrleaders in the room, than him.

Feeling a bit of a sting, much like he sometimes did when unexpectedly facing off against the Rowan (who didn't always keep her prods contained to Jeff or Afra), he continued, "We are, however, usually somewhat clever at solving problems. I would like to observe the next threadfall myself, if you would allow it."

"How so?" N'ton asked.

Gollee shrugged. "Perhaps I could ride along?" he suggested.

"No," N'ton said instantly. F'lar and F'nor also both shook their heads in a manner that made Gollee aware that they were half-brothers again.

"N'ton is in charge of Fort," Lessa said. "And his word is law here. But, perhaps, sometime in the future, you might accompany me in Benden Weyr's Queen's Wing for an hour or so on Ramoth."

Weyrleader F'lar turned slightly to give his mate a surprised look. Lessa stared back at him levelly. Then he shrugged, and ran a hand through his long black hair. "Perhaps," he allowed. "Thread does not fall as thickly at your altitude, it is true. It would be somewhat safer. He would still need a set of weyrhides, however."

Gollee Gren didn't try to push his luck; he was surprised that after so many negatives the tiny Weyrwoman of Benden had been one to voice a differing view, and he didn't want to jinx it. So he inclined his head in gratitude to her, and said to N'ton, "Would there be a problem if I followed this fall's progress mentally?"

N'ton shook his head. "I'd rather you not, lest it interfere with the communication between our dragons. A distraction among my wings at the wrong time could mean deaths."

Knowing that Lessa, too, was a telepath made Gollee Gren doubt this would occur. As an experienced Tower Talent, he would not do anything at all to startle any dragonrider or dragon, and they likely wouldn't even know he was there, but it wasn't an unreasonable request from a man who didn't understand his abilities or how his sex might play into it when all their strongest telepaths seemed to be women.

Still, he felt frustration at the denial.

_It is their duty to fight thread, not ours,_ Afra soothed. He, too, didn't like being impotent in face of a threat like this. The members of the FT&T were three parts skilled laborers, and one part superhero, and they were trained to try to mitigate strange, worldwide disasters. If anything were to bring out the superhero complex Talents had, thread was it.

_How are you feeling?_ Gollee immediately asked his friend. He doubted Afra felt very good.

Although Afra wasn't one to say it. _You lived through it,_ he sent. _So will I_, and Gollee could feel the faint impression of nausea that Afra couldn't quite shield out of his touch, and the effect of fever on his thoughts. _Their Masterhealer tells me it's not firehead, which he finds VERY relieving. Firehead carries complications such as blindness and brain damage._

_For real? _Gollee gave a mental shudder. _A very nasty bug then. I'll pass that on to our party, and Earth Prime. We might want to get a full medical team out here, if there's bugs that serious residing in the population or some organic reservoir. The number of bugs the bot found in our blood is driving our scientists nuts. It's like those Harper ballads Master Robinton graced us with have some fact in them, and there's really been two thousand years—Turns—for all these human-specific bugs to evolve. Even though it couldn't possibly have been. I mean, it's not like the Pernese are worshipping Ra or Zeus, right?_

_Mmm,_ Afra agreed_._ Exhaustion seeped along with the words. _As if thread wasn't enough..._

_Get some rest,_ Gollee said to his friend, and Afra immediately withdrew.

N'ton, unaware of the exchange, said, "The oceans, however, get their share of threadfall, and we do not protect the oceans as thread is very quick to drown. I could send—" he stopped suddenly, but Gollee heard him switch the suggestion from "a weyrling" or trainee dragonrider to someone of much higher rank, in order not to insult Gollee. "—you could ask Lord Jaxom and Ruth to accompany you."

"That's a fantastic idea," Lessa promptly said.

N'ton said, "They typically join us fighting when thread moves over Ruatha Hold, but before or after that they may be amenable to allowing you to observe a fall."

"Where would I find Lord Jaxom now?" Gollee asked. He caught the face from the thoughts of the dragonriders, and recalled the young man had been in his and Afra's demonstration a few days ago, easily the youngest Lord by decades.

"He's still at the Weyr," N'ton said. "Lioth says Ruth is sunning himself by the wherry flocks and may eat soon."

"He could be with Lytol," F'lar suggested.

"Yes, he's with Robinton and Lytol," Lessa said with sudden conviction, and Gollee knew she'd reached out to locate him. "And _they_ are in the Weyrsinger's office."

"And where would that be?" Gollee asked.

And so a few minutes later, they adjourned, and Gollee followed Weyrleader N'ton through corridors and caves deep in the cliffs of the calderra, towards the Weyrsinger's office, as N'ton explained how a Weyrsinger was typically an ex-Harper who had Impressed (statistically speaking, of all the Crafts, Harpers entered the ranks of blue and greenriders at a slightly higher rate, for unknown reasons), and still carried out some duties of Harpering in addition to his duties as a rider, although a Weyrsinger's allegiance was first to the Weyr and not the Harper Hall. Additional non-rider Harpers supplemented the training of children and other duties in the Weyr, but traditionally reported to the Weyrsinger on a day to day basis except when conflicts arose, and then they came under the Harper Hall's oversight.

Gollee filed this all away, as he had with all the other information, and added the Weyrsinger and Weyr Harpers to his ever-lengthening list of people he wanted to talk to. Afra would have heal up soon, to help him with this workload!

Plus, as he caught the Weyrwoman Lessa's measuring gaze and mind on him, he felt Afra's personality would be a much better fit in several of these cases.

#

Afra awoke with the sense that someone was sitting with him, keeping him company. Expecting the Masterhealer again, an intelligent man slightly older than Afra himself that he was starting to trust due to the glimpses of calm, reasoned thought he got when the man visited, fears of bloodletting and alien leeches aside, he tiredly opened his eyes, but the only thing he saw was a small blue firelizard at the foot of his bed. It didn't seem to be one of Menolly's, and was sleeping, its small mind content at having found a nice hideaway from the bigger, bullying bronzes and browns.

_I told him he'd be safe by you, during threadfall, when Ruth is not around to keep the others in line,_ Damia whispered. _He says he usually follows the White Dragon around, although when I asked he didn't seem to have a human of his own. How are you feeling?_

_Unfit to fend off a bullying brown firelizard,_ Afra admitted, and wordlessly asked her to fulfill his part of keeping the blue unmolested until he could go an hour without sleeping or being nauseated. She wordlessly agreed, having brought the blue to him more as a substitute for a caring Coonie than as a being needing his protection.

Afra continued, _They tell you there's a good chance of coming down ill, but it's one thing to be told—_

_ —and another to experience it,_ Damia completed his thought. _I've tried to ease what symptoms I can—I hope you don't mind—but as grandmother says there's only so much one can do. The body has to heal itself._

His mind was already drifting inwards in a spiral. _Mmm._

_Go to sleep. I'll be here._

Despite the fact that she wasn't even fully grown or old enough to switch the tables and look after _him_ instead of the other way around, he believed her, and did.

#

The yammer of non-Talented minds and telepathically powered but oddly cockeyed sendings jolted Afra awake some hours later in a moment of fear.

Damia was still there. _Pernese are loud_, she said with more thoughtfulness than he expected a young woman of her age to have_._ _Especially in a Weyr during threadfall._

Before he could formulate an answer though, nausea rose up in him, and he found himself throwing the furs off—made of real fur and wool—and stumbling towards the Pernese toilet room attached to the suite he'd been given. He felt Damia's presence withdraw to the barest minimum...there should he need assistance, but likely not monitoring more than his vitals, and certainly not intruding.

And then his stomach tried to escape through his esophagus. When that failed, it tried escaping from the other end. And the entire time he fought his rebelling body for control, a war raged outside:

_Are you ready, Lyth?_

_We fight! We fly! We flame!_

Dragons roared, mentally and physically. Despite being behind meters and meters of solid rock, he swore he heard the physical bellows as clearly as the mental.

A hundred images pattered at the edges of Afra's brain: visualized teleportation destinations, icily clear like the ones Rowan projected, but not directed at him. He saw them anyway: aerial views above a wind-chapped rocky land where stone cottages huddled in the center of barren rock grids, with any substantial greenery appearing only well away from the human habitations. Where cold, dreary stone was not used, the Pernese seemed to have an inordinate love of concrete, the only adornment being carvings of thread-fighting dragons for good luck.

Fire, bright and wind-whipped, rose up from the roofs of the cottages as an additional barrier for threads, spewing smoke and embers towards the skies, but not high enough to harm the incoming dragons that winked in above in precision formation.

For all that most of the dragonriders he spoke to on a daily basis were bronze- and goldriders, most of the sky began to fill up with other colors, blues, greens, and browns being the most prominent. Bronze and browns led the wings, forming the foremost edges of giant vees flying up to meet thread. Their colors were noticeable for being duller than the bright greens and blues, dark dots of command.

His body spasmed again, and the vision broke and he was alone and miserable in a foreign toilet as distant shouted commands from riders and war-cries from dragons rang through his consciousness. And, now that the wings of dragons had vacated the Weyr to meet their ancient enemy, Afra could feel the fear from the non-rider members of the Weyr.

Very few humans stayed near the windows when thread fell, unless they were Healers out in the Weyrbowl waiting for incoming casualties. The Healers in the bowl maintained stony or kind exteriors, while fretting in their heads where they thought nobody could hear. The rest of the population huddled in interior rooms, hoping that if a thread did get in—it hadn't ever, but it might someday—it would have to work its way through other rooms of people before getting to _them_.

Thread did not die instantly after all when deprived of organic substances. It first went into a death-frenzy, thinning into near-invisible filaments that probed every crack, seeking the oxygen and carbon dioxide that allowed organic matter's respiration. Only after it had spent its final dregs of energy seeking out life did it finally die from starvation. And if during that death-frenzy it _did_ find the tiniest bit of sustenance, it threw out more and more tendrils, that could easily find their way through porous rocks...or a crack in an ill-fitting pair of shutters.

In his physical misery, Afra realized he'd momentarily merged minds with an anxious weyrling, who was refilling firestone bags as quickly as they came back to him empty. The youth was reciting his lessons to his dragon as he worked. Afra did not beg pardon of the lad for fear of startling him or his young dragon when they were already worried, and withdrew back to his body in silence.

He wondered if it was the sickness that made his mind wander so literally.

_You are fevered,_ Damia whispered. _Fever makes the mind wander. Do you want me to put you to sleep?_

No, he'd slept enough. How could he sleep more now, especially when Talents, human and dragon alike, fought for life to continue on this planet? Shakily, he hauled himself up to his feet, and bathed his face and throat and hands with water. Invisible hands gently supported him as he wavered slightly from side to side on his long legs.

_It's not our fight,_ Damia said uncertainly.

Neither of them believed it. Afra had been in the merges that had defeated the Hivers. Damia had grown up on a planet still extracting bombs and debris from the countryside, still occasionally reeling from sudden flare-ups of old bioengineered plagues. Neither of them could just say, "It's not our fight," and mean it.

Yet, here and now, with Afra sweating and shaking and sick, and Damia young and far away, neither of them could do more than witness the scourge on this land silently, from borrowed eyes.

At some point, Afra recovered the energy to crawl back into bed. Contrasted with the sudden psychic screams of the thread-scored that cut off like death had caught up to them before they emerged out of _between_ again, the organic, authentic furs and textiles felt obscenely luxurious against his skin.

The contrast of his perception of hand-made goods as luxury against the technologically poor aspects of Pernese society he'd already encountered merged with memories the handful of wild splurges he and Gren had once indulged in as young men earning too much money, and Afra began to drift through strange dreams of poverty and luxury, life and death, until Damia, starting to worry for him as she caught snatches of weird, off-kilter dream-thoughts, pushed him into a more dreamless sleep.

#

_Are you sure he's okay?_ Damia said to Menolly.

_Master Oldive won't let him die,_ Menolly said gently.

_You think he might die?! _the younger woman cried.

_I think nothing of that sort, and you know it! Master Oldive is the Masterhealer for a reason, and maybe we don't have the science you have, but he can tell when a man is at death's door and when he isn't. Journeyman's Jour feels like a swim through a rubbish heap doused in piss and set on fire, but it doesn't kill unless you're a baby or old uncle._

_What if he's Capellan?_

Menolly did not know much about Capellans. But she said, _Are Capellans known for being fragile?_

_...no_, Damia said reluctantly_. They're colonist stock, just a bit more grown out of it than Deneb is. They have a crapload of monsoon season diseases. Doesn't seem to kill many of them, though._

_Well then. Master Gren made it through just fine. Afra Lyon will too,_ Menolly told her sensibly_._

#

"Who's your friend?" Rowan said to her daughter softly, having caught the edge of Damia's mental wanderings.

Damia froze, then rapidly began to manipulate her hand-held game as if that's what she'd been doing all along.

Her mother wasn't fooled, and physically took the game sheet away.

"Afra's sick," Damia said, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to deflect attention onto something she thought was much more important.

"Elizara says he'll live," Rowan said. "And it was expected he'd catch a few local bugs, as Gollee did. He'll recover." If he didn't, they'd snatch him back home to civilization before he kicked the bucket.

"His dreams were getting a little freaky," Damia said.

Rowan frowned at her.

"I wasn't prying!" Damia said in frustration, although Rowan hadn't done anything more than frown. "I was keeping him company. He seemed to feel a bit better when he was aware I was there. It's only when he became less conscious and forgot he wasn't alone that his dreams got a little dark."

"Well, I suppose it is time you pay him back," Rowan said after a moment. Afra had sat a few vigils at Damia's bedside, after all.

Damia gave her a sideways look. "Yeah. I know. That's what I'm doing."

"But who is your other friend?" Rowan persisted.

"Afra's my friend," Damia said stubbornly.

"The _girl_."

The young woman clearly tried to think of a way to pin that on Afra as well, but if there was one thing that Afra wasn't, it was female. "...her name's Menolly. And she's looking out for Afra too, which is _good_ because she has feet on the ground over there!" Damia insisted. "She has a crush on him, so she'll _really_ be looking out for him, and we'll know if _anything_ goes wrong." And Damia seemed pleased at this, that she'd been able to find a "good channel" for Menolly's burgeoning affections.

"That poor man," Rowan said wryly. Afra turned heads. Always had—which had bemused her for many years, as she'd never felt _that_ way towards him. But she'd caught something of the tenor of Menolly's mind, and was not too much worried she'd do something silly. The young Harper woman admired Afra, but she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. "I think you're right. If she's a fan of him, she'll just watch him closer for us."

Damia blinked.

Rowan gave her daughter a wink, then sauntered off as her daughter pondered the sudden reality of her mother _not_ punishing her for having an illicit friend.

#

"How do you feel?"

Afra sat on the edge of the bed, bare-chested and bare-footed with the furs over his lap, and felt tired. Tired, but for once clear-minded. He said as much.

"Ah," Master Oldive said, pressing an old-fashioned stethoscope he'd thoughtfully warmed in his hands to Afra's chest. "You sound better too," he said after a moment. "You got the worst of it, you know. I wish I knew if it were just individual variance, or because you're of different stock. The sample size is too small to tell for certain."

"I wouldn't know, Masterhealer," Afra said, oddly comforted by the hints that this man might understand the scientific method, and that one data point did not a conclusion make. Others might be concerned if a doctor—or Healer in this case—did not have all the answers, but Afra much preferred a man who knew his limits.

"May I ask a question?" Oldive asked politely, taking the stethoscope away, and putting it back into the case he'd withdrawn it from.

"You may," Afra said.

"I saw this on the other male patients, and I didn't say anything as it didn't seem to be causing discomfort or pain, and there was certainly no obvious distress when any one of you had to have noticed it growing during your illness—"

Afra caught the question before Master Oldive finished his round-about way of putting it, and began to laugh. "This?" Afra said, and ran a hand down one cheek, which had a substantial growth of golden beard coming in. "My beard?"

"I admit, I've never seen a human with a beard before. Only ovines." The man's mouth quirked up in an affable smile.

And the picture of a billy goat was so clear in the Masterhealer's mind that Afra, who had intended to stop laughing after the initial chuckle, found himself giving a true belly laugh—which was a bit painful as his stomach muscles had been well-abused by the nausea from his past illness. He tried to issue an apology for laughing in the Masterhealer's face, but the Masterhealer waved it away.

"I except you caught that goofy-looking ovine in my head, didn't you?" he said.

Again, Afra tried to apologize for the intrusion, and again it was waved away.

"Don't tell anyone this, but I've had a dragon make a comment to me a time or two before when taking me _between_. It's not all that much different, no matter if it's man or dragon catching the thought."

"That's charitable of you," Afra finally managed. "But I still beg pardon."

"Very well, pardon is granted, since you persist in obtaining it. So this beard thing is typical, for you star-men?"

"Your question implies Pernese men don't grow beards," Afra said. "If that's the case, you're the only race of men I know of who don't."

"Huh," Master Oldive said. "And it's sex-linked?"

"Yes," Afra said. "Our women don't grow beards." And he waited half a beat before asking with a bit of mischief, for the kind Healer's manner put him at ease enough to do so, "Do yours?"

Oldive gave Afra an unfathomable look, and if Afra hadn't been able to feel the man's amusement, he might have been worried. As it were, Oldive looked him up and down and said, "You're well-healed now, if hungry and sore. If you'd take my advice, young man, I'd advise you to go out and ask one. Heavens know how many 'well-wishers' who've had no connection whatsoever to recent negotiations or yourself we've had to shoo away."

Afra blinked, as he hadn't known this. And, somewhat embarrassed, he said, "Not so young, but I understand why you'd think so. I've perhaps a year or two less than you."

Surprise. "Is that so?" Master Oldive said. "Master Robinton _said_ you were all much older than you looked—"

"Our medical—our _Healing_—advancements have allowed us to put off some of the visible effects of aging," Afra said. Then he cleared his throat, and leaned over to put on a shirt. It was a Pernese one, gifted to him by Master Zurg, and a pale yellow and soft. "Please don't take this statement as a..._formal_ offer...but if our peoples get to the point of exchanging students, I would recommend you have ready a number of Healers you wish to undergo further medical training with the Nine Star League." Afra paused. "No insult intended to the care you've provided to me, of course. You're as pleasant to work with as Master Elizara is when I'm at home."

There was a surge of...avarice?...in the man's heart at Afra's words, but Afra didn't mind sensing a bit of avarice in a man who only felt it because he desperately wanted to solve many of the medical diseases and problems that his Craft could not yet heal. A lust for knowledge wasn't much of a vice insofar as vices went.

"You think then—" Master Oldive said, then cut himself off, and his mind worked through several comments as adeptly as a Harper's. Finally, he inclined his head, and said, "Thank you. I'll keep your advice in mind, Master Lyon, should such a time come." And Afra caught the images/senses of some of Oldive's best Healers. The man would summon them here from all around Pern and stuff them on a capsule to the Nine Star League the moment such a thing became feasible.

No, no leeches here with Master Oldive, for all that they'd feared. Just a man doing his best with the technology he had. Afra would gratefully relay his perceptions to the lead Diplomat—and to Jeff Raven—the next time he spoke to them.

In the meantime, as Master Oldive left in his rolling, hunched-back way, Afra rose to his feet and picked through the other clothing Master Zurg had gifted to him. As he picked up a long, soft pants, he was well aware that it was his own enculturation that made him hesitate upon donning pale pink leather trousers. He knew quite well that pale pinks and yellows went well with his complexion, but had never wanted to dare Gollee's jibes by wearing too _much_ pink all at once. And yet, he could not turn a gift down.

Even if they were _pink leather pants_.

He sighed and put them on, vowing to give Gollee his best if the man dared breathe or think a _word. _Upon encountering buttons at the fly, Afra wondered if the Masterweaver would be as enthralled by the concept of Terran zippers as Master Oldive was at Terran medicine.

It took a bit more exploration to figure out how the tunic worked when he picked it up. It was an ivory a few shades darker than the shirt, and accented with more pink, as well as a bit of green—but not too much, for even Afra knew at this point that green was a bad-luck color to the Pernese. Gold and bronze dragons were embroidered on the back of the tunic, cavorting among stars, and Afra wondered if they had custom-made this for him, until he realized with his size they would have _had_ to. Were the dragons and stars symbolic, and if so, what did they symbolize? After a bit of exploration while he pondered Pernese symbolism, he finally got the tunic on with various ties and straps seemingly positioned correctly. He fastened his FT&T rank tabs on the shoulder, where the typical Pernese rank-knots would go. At the very least, at dinner this evening, he could discuss such things as symbolic embroidery with the Masterweaver. Always good to have an ice-breaker.

Then he visited the bathing room to shave. If he were dressing up as a Pernese today, having unexpected hair sprouting from his face would utterly ruin the illusion, and even if he'd only been among "star-men", being scruffy would be no good.

Of course, having greenish skin would ruin the illusion too, but there was little he could do about that, short of slathering himself in pancake makeup, something that seemed unnecessary.

Finally, grooming attended to, Afra began to make his way out of his quarters for the first time in three days, to join everyone for dinner.

#

When Gollee Gren opened his mouth upon seeing Afra enter Fort Weyr's dining hall, Afra fixed him with a stern golden-eyed gaze and sent, _Not a word!_

Gollee's eyes dropped to Afra's pants, then he looked away, and kept his thoughts shielded. He wasn't quite so foolish enough to tangle with Afra when he was fighting back before a single jibe had been said, but it did disappoint him a bit that he couldn't joke about his _own_ leather trousers, or the embarrassed discomfort emanating from some of their diplomatic peers who had also felt compelled to wear their gifts of Pernese clothing despite the cultural connotations of leather pants.

So instead he sent, _Now we have to grow our hair out, eh?_ For despite their party being dressed as Pernese, the one thing that stood out now were their haircuts. Most Pernese, aside from dragonriders, had long hair worn in natural styles without coloring or highlighting or other adornments or changes other than a few ties or braids on the older men. Terran (and Altairian, and Capellan, and so on) haircuts stood out starkly.

_Our hair, yes,_ Afra sent, taking a seat where he was directed, on the other side of the table near Weyrleader D'ram and former Lord Lytol. _But not our beards!_

_Everyone does seem clean-shaven,_ Gollee said, rubbing his own bare chin.

Afra chuckled in his head. _We're regular sasquatch to them,_ he said ambiguously.

Before Gollee could take that angle and run with it, however, the dinner formally began, with apologies on both sides that the star-men had undergone such sudden, virulent sickness upon their arrival, delaying progress in their talks.

#

"Master Fanderal," Master Oldive said. "Do you have a moment to discuss—"

The Healer's plea towards the Mastersmith caught Robinton's attention, and he ceased hovering benignly around Master Nicat and Lord Raid as they spoke to one of the junior Nine Star League diplomats, and began to work his way through the little social knots of people towards his two fellow Craftmasters. The Healer Hall and the Smithcraft Hall rarely had occasion to cross-craft, but he'd always had a vestigial longing to spend a few days or weeks in the same room with both men just to see if they could come up with any wonders between the three of them. Of course all of them were too busy to do such a thing, but he respected the other two greatly as Craftsmen.

So now that Oldive was taking it upon himself to approach Fanderal, Robinton decided to follow them, as surely _something_ interesting was going on.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here?" Master Oldive up to Robinton as the Harper joined them.

"Are you saying I'm predictable, now?" Robinton asked with a hand over his heart, pretending to be affronted.

The Smith snorted. "You remind me of my daughter, sometimes, Harper," Master Fanderal said to him. "Always hovering around her creations with a finger on the gears, to make sure it keeps on ticking."

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment," Robinton said after a moment, for Fanderal was typically not very expansive about his family, although Robinton's Harpers noted his household was a harmonious one.

Fanderal chuckled in a basso rumble. Then he turned to the Masterhealer. "Yes, I agree, what we've seen of their Smithcraft is truly enlightening. I am not surprised you've noticed the same for your Healingcraft. Even in the short time they've been here, sick as pups—no offense meant, Masterhealer, we couldn't have predicted their physical frailness—I've been able to put several of our biggest mysteries in the Smith archives to rest."

"Really?" Robinton asked in intense interest. "Which ones?"

Fandaral began to expound about the tiniest, smallest bits of matter, which Robinton tried to memorize as he heard it, and then segued into how he now understood how a bone-viewing machine using rays actually worked, which caused Master Oldive's eyes to become huge until Master Fanderal deflated him with a warning of how such boxes produced invisible sickness from the same rays, cure and poison in one, and despite some bright mind coming along every generation in the Smithcraft trying to create such a thing off of ancient schematics the animals exposed to it invariably died in excruciating pain, be they red-blooded or green-blooded. "And the lead used to shield man from it, as you know Master Oldive, is poison to the mind," Fandaral concluded. "Not good to leave that laying around. Not even in a Smithy. Not good at all. But I've learned so many things from the most casual of conversation with their 'scientists'," Fandaral rumbled, brows growing together. "I wonder if—"

Oldive cleared his throat. "There's a possibility of a student exchange," he offered. "I didn't hear it..._officially_, as of yet, but I will be putting together a roster just in case—"

Both of the other Masters perked up at this, in their excitement more interested in the possibilities for growth than disaster.

Yet, for the matter at hand..."Could we ask about this one directly?" Robinton asked Fanderal, scratching his chin. "I was shown the simplest little musical device by them. Simple—and yet, _we_ hadn't thought of it! A little musical machine, Fanderal, made of bumps and tiny tuned prongs of metal. I'll have to show it to you sometime, it's very clever although not so clever as the Tri-D tank you've got your Masters trying to figure out. Perhaps if we're lucky, this mystery might be the same? And of far greater benefit than my little toy?"

Both Craftmasters immediately countered Robinton's wry self-deprecation, then Fanderal said, "I will ask...but not here," he added, displaying a canniness he typically kept hidden. "I don't need to be a Harper to understand that some of _them_ would not like talk about seeing the bones underneath a man's skin."

"Well, I for one think it would be _fascinating_ discussion," Master Oldive said, his brown eyes merry as he planted tongue firmly in cheek. "After all, right now to see the bones we have to cut a person wide open, and I think all would agree it's better _not_ to have to do that!"

"But, alas, still not an appropriate topic for this mixed company," Robinton said regretfully. "The concerns of Lords are quite boring, aren't they?" he murmured slyly. "So much to be _learned_ today and they stand there talking about _politics_. Ah, I suppose I do the politics thing too," and here he sighed.

Fanderal patted Robinton on the back with one beefy hand. "We appreciate the self-sacrifices you make, Harper," he said with a chuckle. "But if you _do_ learn something of note—my Hall will look forward to any songs you might have about bones."

"I would _love_ to see Menolly write something on that topic," Oldive agreed with a half-smile.

Robinton raised his eyebrows, thinking, then nodded. "You know, the young _can_ get away with asking questions in mixed company that we cannot," he mused. "We'll see what we can do," he promised.

#

When Menolly let the last notes drift away from the grand formal harp she sat playing, Master Robinton moved into her peripheral vision seemingly by chance, speaking to the Talent Gollee Gren as he did so. Instead of taking a few moments to wet her throat and contemplate the next song, she set the harp upright and rose to gather her things.

Another harper, a journeyman, settled in behind her once she left, proving that the sense that Master Robinton needed her was astute, for she hadn't been due for relief for another half-hour.

So she ghosted closer to him through the crowd, and watched as Robinton introduced Gollee Gren to Zair. Gollee Gren, she felt unexpectedly, seems much more taken with the little bronze than with Robinton himself, although she'd never seen the man indicate in word or action that he did not like the Masterharper.

Carefully, before she drew too close, she tucked such thoughts behind shields as she had been practicing, and hoped the man's greater Mastery of his Talent didn't allow him to see them anyway. And, she supposed, even if the man did not quite get along with Robinton proper (which he _was _allowed to do, she reminded herself wryly), there couldn't be anything wrong with a man who liked firelizards, right?

Could there?

Menolly abruptly wished that Damia—whom she'd been speaking with on and off again over the past week—was about. But Damia had her own duties, and she'd confessed that the Pernese day was her night and as much as she enjoyed talking to Menolly, she _did_ have to sleep. And it would not be right to ask the girl...young woman...girl...to snitch on a family friend, as she now knew Gollee Gren was.

Silently—and she hoped unobtrusively—she called a few of her faire to her. Beauty came, naturally, and greeted her with a nuzzle under her jaw, but also bronze Diver and blue Uncle. Diver took the shoulder opposite of Beauty, and Uncle contented himself with the crook of her arm, although he craned his long neck up into the air to watch the goings-on about them.

"—was hoping you or Master Lyon might have time to spare in the upcoming days for us Crafters," Master Robinton was saying.

Gollee Gren assumed an apologetic expression, and Menolly was surprised to realize she could recognize a faint touch from him of emotion reinforcing it—projecting, as Robinton had been training himself to do with her. "I'm afraid our time is already spoken for with the Weyrs, Masterharper. I'll be in meetings with Weyrleader N'ton, and Afra Lyon is in talks with Weyrwoman Lessa and Weyrleader F'lar of Benden."

Robinton, in response to this rejection, put on his own polite expression, this one of a grandfatherly man who had just been sorely disappointed by this young man in front of him, but was putting a brave face on it. "I see," he said. "Perhaps—"

"We'll be talking about threadfall," Gollee interrupted. "The two falls we've experienced since we've arrived have been very _unsettling_ on a psychic level for us. You could say we're under orders from...our Mastertalent, Earth Prime. To lend what aid we can, that makes sense, directly to the Weyrs. I'm sure you understand."

"Ah," Robinton said. "Yes, I understand. I am certainly not one to stand in the way of defeating our ancient enemy. Do you have suggestions for how your Nine Star League might help?"

A polite smile from Gren. "Several, which we'll be discussing with the Weyrs."

Very, very softly she whispered to her Master: _You needed me?_

Robinton made no indication he'd heard, but Zair divested himself of Gren's gently caressing fingers and returned to Robinton's shoulder to call a greeting to her, which was returned by Beauty.

_This_ Robinton responded to. "Who is it, Zair? Ah, Menolly! Just the woman I was about to go looking for." And if he hadn't just been thwarted at every turn by the man in front of him, Robinton turned to Menolly and said, "Beauty's due to rise soon, is she not?"

She caught his meaning instantly—and without any of their mutual Talents involved. "I expect so, sir. Master Gren," she said, turning to him. "Would you like an egg from Beauty's next clutch?"

The faintest flicker of surprise, quickly suppressed. Gollee Gren blinked several times, then said, quickly, "I don't know that it would be ethical."

Menolly and Robinton shared a startled glance. Neither had realized such an offer would raise ethical considerations.

"How do you mean?" the Masterharper queried politely.

"No—no offense meant, Masterharpe," Gollee said quickly, raising a hand to forestall such an occurrence. "But if I telepathically bond with one of your firelizards, and then go offworld again, home to my family—" and the Talent trailed off, but Menolly saw his eyes alight on each of the firelizards in turn, from Zair to Beauty to Diver to blue Uncle.

"Why," Menolly said, "It would go with you. And meet your wife and daughter."

Silence.

"Or," Robinton offered when the pause extended uncomfortably. "It would stay here. Firelizards seem to be able to stray from those they Impress to without the severe damage that occurs with dragon-rider pairs when one dies. I hear from Lord Jaxom and Ruth that many of the firelizards that follow the White Dragon around are firelizards whose partners were unsuitable for them, and I'm told they are happy enough as wild firelizards. It is how they live their natural lives, after all, bonding to their mother's faire before later going out into the world to create their own faires with other queens."

"It's a generous offer," Gollee said, which could easily be prelude to either acceptance or refusal.

"Well, think on it, Master Talent," Robinton said gently, not one to demand an instant answer when someone was so obviously divided . "Even if Beauty were to fly today, it will still take some time until the eggs are laid, much less hatched." He paused, and added, "The Weyrs also have plenty of firelizards, and firelizard eggs, if that is preferable."

And while Robinton's voice and tone held nothing but earnest good-will, Menolly saw the faintest blush come to Master Gren's cheeks before fading, as if he'd still caught the deeply hidden rebuke. Then Master Gren turned to Menolly, and executed a short bow, something they'd only previously seen from Master Lyon. "I do not know if firelizards can exist off of Pern, which contributes to my hesitation. I would not want to condemn such a small, intelligent creature to malnutrition or starvation if it doesn't take well to meat from Earth. But I promise if it is a risk I wish to make, I'll come to the woman most knowledgeable about firelizards on Pern, Journeywoman Menolly, for an egg."

Menolly felt herself blush, even as she saw Robinton relax just a bit at the compliment to her. Zair's eyes, too, slowed in their whirling. "In all honesty, Master Gren, the Weyrs probably _are_ just as knowledgeable as I am about firelizards. Benden in particular, although since Weyrleader N'ton was previously of Benden he's had one just as long as I have."

"Well, as far as I've seen, firelizards come second to dragons in the Weyrs. So I suspect my assessment still stands. Both of you have my thanks. I'm afraid I need to go however. I will see what time I have in my schedule, Master Robinton, in the coming days. Would you be comfortable with giving me coordinates to your Hall?"

"I can procure a map for you," Robinton began.

But Menolly realized that this was not what Gollee Gren was asking for, and flashed the man a clear image of the Harper Hall, such as one she might give to a dragon.

This startled a laugh out of Gollee. "Do you have an image closer to the ground?" he asked Menolly, even as he turned an interested gaze on her. Not interested in the way of a man looking at a woman, but interested in the way of a man who was a Master in his Craft looking at a recruit.

"Are you saying you can't fly?" Menolly asked with half a smile, as Robinton looked from one of them to the other.

"I can," Gollee admitted to their surprise, a sudden glint of mischief in his eye. "But it's not something Talents do in polite company. Or among non-Talents. It can breed a certain resentment. Although I imagine, Master Robinton, your Hall would have some _interesting_ songwriting material if I were to fly in to meet you!"

"I'd rather like to witness that," Robinton said. "But you're right that it might incite a panic if no dragons are involved."

"It incites a panic even _when_ dragons are involved," Menolly muttered _sotto voce_.

Robinton placed a hand on her shoulder, but she could sense his amusement through the close contact.

Menolly adjusted her mental picture to one of the Hall as seen from her own eyes, for she and Gren were of nearly a height with Gren being only a bit taller, and sent it to Gren.

"Thank you, Journeywoman," Gren said. "And thank you, Masterharper. I'll come calling as time permits."

"We'll be delighted to have you," Robinton said, with sincerity.

And then Gollee Gren took his leave, and Robinton and Menolly watched him go.

When he was well out of earshot, and hopefully mind-shot, Menolly said, "He doesn't like you, Master."

"No."

"Do you know why not?"

Robinton shrugged. "I can't charm everyone, my dear, no matter how hard I try. Although he seemed to be coming around. But what's this about flying? I'm afraid I didn't fully follow what happened there—"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> So, this chapter and the six chapters after it (chapters 21 through 27) have been on AO3 for quite some time (I think over 6 months for the earlier chapters). So as a heads up, see my profile for links to AO3.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_This close!_ Gollee Gren ranted later that night to Earth Prime and Afra Lyon, projecting an image of his forefinger and thumb held together with just the barest gap showing. _After over twenty years of turning down bribes, I was _THIS CLOSE_ to going gaga over a stupid winged bug-eyed lizard. Which would probably end up dead on Earth and I'd have to deal with the guilt of THAT for the rest of my life._ Gren's words were laced with heavy self-disgust for his near trespass. It was practically a Methody-level show of remorse and self-berating, if Methody folk were given to such shows of emotion.

_Are you so sure Master Robinton was trying to bribe you?_ Afra queried, surprised at how agitated his friend was.

_Afra, please. Perhaps you've never had a clever man do his best to corrupt you during all your long years on that damn moon because you never let them out of their tin cans when they pass through, but it's a DAILY fucking occurrence at Earth Tower. I've been offered things you wouldn't _believe_ if I were only to expedite some shipment or another._ They could feel Gollee abruptly shift the topic back to Master Robinton._ I can't understand how half of his own people _believe_ that innocent-old-man act. His CRAFT is acting and yet they treat him like he's genuine! And he had a shield up the entire time! The first thing he learns off of us—is shielding! So he can lie with impunity!_

_Gollee,_ Afra said. _If it's _true_ they were bribing you_—

The man's response was a bundle of indignation that Afra could even think that Gollee _wasn't_ being honest.

_—if it's true they were bribing you,_ Afra repeated calmly, as he was more convinced that Gollee's own self-righteousness was skewing the man's perceptions, _Since by your own admission they were both shielded and you did not probe beyond that, what do you think they were hoping to achieve?_

_Yes, what did they want?_ Jeff asked blandly.

They could feel Gollee take a breath to calm his mind and emotional state. _They _said_ they wanted to speak to me or Afra,_ he said.

_ And?_ Jeff asked.

_I told them we were filled up. Because we _are_. I'm in talks with Fort, Afra with Benden, starting tomorrow, and then moving onto the other Weyrs as needed in the weeks to come. You said yourself, Jeff, that our first priority is learning more about threadfall. And our second priority is dragons. What, exactly, is the Harper Hall going to do about threadfall? Or dragons?_ _ Let the Diplomats handle them, as the scientists are handling the other Crafts._

As Gren continued to carry on, although at a slightly diminished rate, Jeff mentally pulled Afra aside. _What's going on here?_ _What did YOU spent your night doing?_

Regretfully, Afra said, _I was seated by Masterweaver Zurg and Lytol. I broke the ice speaking about the embroidery on the shirt I was gifted, but little did I realize that Lord Lytol—or ex-Lord as it may be—is a connoisseur of battle-scenes and between the two of them they had a great deal to say on the subject. Thus far all my contacts with Lytol have been minimal, as he's a very taciturn man and...his mind is very uncomfortable to me most of the time, due to his tragedy, so I let him talk despite the subject being one that doesn't directly pertain to us. It was pleasant encountering him in a moment where he was not so unhappy, so I let him look at the embroidery on my tunic and the rest of my outfit, and educate me in what each part meant._

_ Pink leather?_ Jeff said with a chuckle, catching onto what Afra's trousers had been. _Tell me, what does THAT mean in Pernese?_

Afra waggled a mental finger. _If I'm not going to take comments about it from Gren, I certainly won't from you!_

Jeff projected a wide grin. _Fine, but I'm telling Rowan._

_Or her! ESPECIALLY her!_

Jeff laughed. Then he said, _Do you think Gren's deep-seated hatred of the media is affecting his relationship with Master Robinton? I admit in the past his outlook has always been to our favor, as he doesn't take any bull from them when they come sniffing for FT&T blood..._

Afra projected sympathy. _Is that "bloodhound" group causing trouble again?_ he asked.

Jeff sighed. _Yes, but you're quite far away from the whole mess on Pern. When we pull you back, I'll bring you up to speed._

_Very well. As for Gren..._and here Afra hesitated. Gollee had been one of his most loyal, truest friends nearly since they day they met. And yet...he did not at all agree with Gollee's reading of the Harper.

Which was of course, interesting. They were both relatively powerful Talents, both of them skilled in taking the measure of a man, and while no human was free from the bias of their own perceptions, both of them made an effort to be fair. So the question became, what did it mean that they came away with very different ideas of who Master Robinton was?

Afra eventually said, _Gollee is more cynical than I am. But then, you knew that. In fact, I'd guess the reason you sent both of us instead of one or the other is because he's a cynic and I'm not._

A brief affirmation from Jeff.

_I think,_ Afra said slowly, _that if nothing unexpected happens, Robinton will become, and remain, our strongest ally outside of the Weyrs. You've merged with him, Jeff. He's a good man at heart._

There was silence from Earth Prime.

_Do you disagree?_ Afra asked eventually.

Jeff Raven said, _No. On another topic, we've begun to have precogs about Pern._

In his quarters at Fort Weyr, Afra stood up abruptly and found himself pacing across the large, but windowless room. _Anything we need to know, Prime?_ he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

_Well, we only seem to have one precog that's sensitive to events on Pern. Gren's daughter's friend, Cassandra. Hell of a name for a precog,_ he added in a brief digression.

_Has she predicted anything?_

_Do the words, "Black, blacker, blackest; and cold beyond the frozen things" ring a bell?_

_Not offhand; is it a song? I could ask the Harpers. Gren's thoughts of where we must spend our time aside—not that I disagree that thread and dragons are a priority—if we have questions about words Harpers are definitely the best people to speak to._

A spark of blue-bright interest from Jeff. _You know, she did deliver it in a sing-song voice, but that's quite common with precogs. But in this case, perhaps it's another data point. Let me pull up the recording. Ah, here it is. Are you ready to receive, Master Lyon?_ Jeff asked with a bit of good humor.

_I am, Mastertalent,_ Afra responded in kind.

And then Jeff listened to the recording, and watched the video, and let Afra have full access to his senses so he could observe as well.

It took all of two seconds before Afra felt the hairs on the backs of his arms raise in instinctive fear.

The young girl, teenaged, sat in the middle of the typical disaster zone of a bedroom, the artificial light and cheap Tri-D camera doing no favors for the scene, while she furiously texted a friend while giggling. But mid-conversation, her face went slack, and the device tumbled out of her fingers to fall under the bed. Then she jerked her head up, craning her neck around the room as if looking for something, but her eyes were sightless. She screwed her face up then, and stuck her fingers in her ears, and sat that way for many long seconds, before she began to sing, badly and off-key:

_Black, blacker, blackest—_

_ —and cold beyond the frozen things._

_ Where is _between_ when there is naught—_

_ To Life but fragile dragon wings?_

Then she burst into tears.

Afra took a moment to settle himself; it perturbed him a bit that he could be unsettled by a show of Talent just because he didn't have that type of Talent himself. Then he asked, _And we know it's Pern related?_

_She mentions _between_ and dragons. She also had her first precog about Gollee Gren, even if we don't know what it means, and he is obviously connected to events on Pern at this point. If you can speak to a Harper and confirm if that's a real song she's singing or not, she'll be as good as certified as the first Pern-sensitive precog._

_Understood. I'll speak with the Harper Hall as soon as possible. We did mention when we first presented to all known Talents leading the Weyrs, Holds, or Crafts that precogging was a Talent we were familiar with, but I'm as of yet unsure if it's anywhere near as common in the Pernese population as telepathy is. I may need to be circumspect._

Jeff projected affirmation. _I'll leave it to your judgment. Gren!_ he suddenly called, which told Afra their private session was at an end.

Gren, unaware that he'd been left out of Jeff and Afra's exchange, paused in his recounting of the day's events. _Yes?_

_I'm having Afra investigate a possible Pern precog from here on Earth with the Harper Hall. So let him fulfill your promise to Master Robinton. You focus on the Weyrs and dragons as a whole. Afra, you will cultivate relationship with Talented individuals, both in the Weyrs and outside of it, including the Harpers._

_ However, Gren, if you come to the stance that you're willing to see if firelizards can survive off of Pern, and you're offered an egg again, I'll officially consider it _not_ a bribe for you to accept it, if you and your new companion are willing to submit a bit of data to our archives for however long you and the firelizard feel it's not bringing either of you to harm. The same holds for you, Afra._

Although Afra had not let himself show it, he'd been as captivated as Gollee at the start by the lovely little creatures, and he felt his mood immediately lighten. _Yes, Earth Prime._

_Yes sir,_ Gollee echoed, also "feeling" more upbeat.

_Don't sound so put out, you two,_ Jeff said merrily. _Also, if you both get one, try to get a boy and a girl._ _That aren't related. I don't have to be a precog or even Earth Prime to realize that if they are hardy enough to live off of Pern every Talent will want one._

_Every Pernese wants one,_ Afra said.

_Which really means, every human,_ Gollee added.

_Indeed. Well, get some rest you two. I'll expect to hear from you again in a week, barring anything urgent. Good night!_

And then Earth Prime was gone.

#

"MENOLLY!" one of the kitchen women hissed in a loud stage whisper from the doorway , wringing her apron in her hands.

Menolly, along with quite a few other Journeymen, looked up from the work they were doing in the large study room in surprise. She felt a bit wroth at the interruption, and by the glares she and the other woman got from some of the men, she wasn't the only one. So, biting her tongue, she put her pen down and motioned the woman over to her.

Walking timidly like she wasn't really supposed to be in this room of the Hall, the woman crept over, and whispered in her ear:

"Journeywoman, there's a man downstairs asking for you, and oh, I thought he looked so sick so I tried to point him to the Healer Hall but he said he was fine, and he wished to talk to you. So I came up here but you looked like you were working so hard, I didn't want to bother you because you're probably doing something for the Harper, so I tried to ask him to come by later, but then he started asking for the _Masterharper, and—_oh, did I do wrong? He doesn't have a rank knot or anything, but his clothes are very nice!"

Menolly put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Calm down, everything's fine. What is his name?"

"Oh, I don't know, I asked him thrice, but it was such a strange name and I didn't want to ask him a fourth time lest he think me stupid—"

_...okaaay, _Menolly thought to herself. "What did he look like, then? Why did you try to send him to the Healer Hall?"

"Why," and the woman blinked several times, and breathed into Menolly's ear: "Why, he's an absolutely _gorgeous_ looking man, but he's green all over! On his face and his hands and his neck and down the front of his shirt. It's not natural, a man being _green_ like that! And he's taller than Master Robinton! He's a giant green man!"

Mingled emotions surged through Menolly. First, embarrassment that the Master Talent Afra Lyon had likely been left to cool his heels in the middle of the Hall for who knew how long until this woman worked up the courage to interrupt her. Not even to _mention_ the woman's thoughts, which he likely would have heard. Second, elation that he was _here_, at the Hall, and was looking for _her_. Or really, probably the Masterharper, but that was just as good. Third—yes, she thought he was probably just as gorgeous as the other woman thought, but decidedly _not_ sick. Not anymore at least.

Quickly, she gathered up her things, and put them into her bag. "The man's name is Afra Lyon, two words, two names, but you can call him Master Lyon if needed, it's easier to remember. In the future, you are to immediately interrupt me or Master Robinton, no matter _who_ we're talking to or what we're doing, if he arrives. Take these to my quarters, and leave them inside." Menolly pushed her things into the other woman's arms.

"Is he special?"

"Yes," Menolly said. "Very special. Although I thought it was Master Gren who'd be visiting, not Master Lyon, and certainly not this soon..."

#

Afra's first thought upon getting the coordinates from Gren's mind was, _the Harper Hall is an actual university!_ Not like any on Capella, of course, but like the ones on Earth, stately and made of stone. Of course, it wasn't just the stone that made it look like a college, but the layout as well, with an inner courtyard, open rooms with desks and tables to work and study at, and multiple levels with some old-fashioned chimneys poking up from the roofs.

His second thought was: _I'll never be able to 'port in at _that _location unobtrusively_. For indeed, the viewpoint Gren had provided was right in the center of the large courtyard, and when he reached his mind out to check how full of people it was, there were men and boys, and a few women, traversing it busily. A man just _appearing_ would certainly be noticed.

So Afra took a few moments to slip into the mind of a little firelizard, and ask that it show him the Harper Hall from some other angles, and after a bit of back-and-forth with the creature, who found his requests a fun game, it gave him an image of an interior hallway not so used that he would have no choice but to 'port in in full view of astonished eyes, but also not so unused that he'd feel like a trespasser sneaking about.

Coordinates obtained, he closed his eyes in Fort Weyr, and teleported into the Harper Hall, unseen by any but the friendly brown firelizard friend, who chirped approvingly when he appeared.

Immediately, Afra's earlier impressions were confirmed: A school. A university. The mental murmurings from all around him were decidedly different from those of the Weyr. The Weyr varied between an intense determination to beat thread once again, and ecstatic happiness at having lived through the prior fall. The Harper Hall was full of young minds bent on learning, bent on silently railing against their teachers, or old minds silently railing against the ignorance of youth. He felt his lips turn upwards in a smile.

It was also full of sound; as he caressed his little brown firelizard helper, he could hear music, both sung and played. The novelty was that all of it was _live,_ and for once he had a few moments to appreciate it without being one in a crowd such as at a concert. He was so used to hearing recorded music that for a few instants he found himself captivated as _minds_ rose and fell in synch with the music itself, each one knowing its part to play in the greater whole.

Strangely, it reminded him a little of a Tower. He'd listened to so much _recorded_ music that he'd never stopped to consider the unity required in delivering a note-perfect piece of music live was akin to the unity required in delivering a cargo pod to its destination, with every person doing their part on cue.

What _also_ surprised him, however, was when he reached further into the mountainside, the air of study persisted—but the _music_ vanished and he became aware of men and women who were sick.

_The Harper and Healer Halls are in the same facility_, he reminded himself. But, obviously, segregated into their own sections of the building. Again, like a university, with its Harper _Hall_ building, and its Healer _Hall_ building.

How interesting. He did not doubt there'd be a good chance of discovering empathic Talents among the Healers of the Healer Hall.

Letting the brown perch on his shoulder, Afra moved himself out of the side hallway to the main entryway, were many people did double-takes.

Intending to head trouble off, for his foreign looks were making decided waves, he greeted a woman who looked like domestic help, and asked her for Menolly, for he could sense the Masterharper was not in residence at the moment, but his Journeywoman was. The woman was rather flustered, had trouble with his name no matter how much he tried to reduce his accent, and was not particularly efficient at her task, more awed at Menolly's rank than at his strangeness, but he could feel that once he was "being taken care of" the other people felt more comfortable because they were free to stare and wonder who he was and what he was here for, without obligation to approach him.

On another world, Afra might have found it unforgivably rude. But he could feel how...naive? Innocent? How _unaffected_ perhaps their reactions were. He was not purposely being shunned; he was just so odd-looking that they didn't know what to do with him.

Amused, he counseled himself to patience, and obediently delivered caresses to the brown firelizard who'd remained with him as a guide.

And then he felt Menolly approach.

The firelizard in his arms cooed when she became visible at the top of the great stairs, and he understood that once more he'd managed to find his way to one of Menolly's faire. He looked up at her and smiled, and watched as her surprised expression blossomed for a moment into a wide grin, before she schooled herself into something more appropriate.

Ah. He'd seen such signs before. Ruefully he realized he would have to be careful with the young woman, given the signs of infatuation he saw present, signs that hadn't been there previously when he'd touched her and Masterharper Robinton's minds from afar. There must have been something in their last encounter that had provoked it, although thinking back he couldn't put a finger on exactly what it had been, as he hadn't done anything unusual. But that was the way of things, after all...

...he also couldn't exactly put a finger on why he adored the Rowan sometimes, as all the reasons he presented to himself seemed quite silly. And yet, he still adored her.

Although, he _did_ hope his feelings for her at this point had progressed far beyond something as shallow as a crush.

Realizing he was woolgathering, he changed his thoughts to a more fitting track as Menolly approached.

"I am so sorry, Master Lyon, that you were kept waiting here so long," Menolly said to him once they were in earshot.

Afra bowed deeply to her, as she was currently the representative of the Harper Hall in her Master's absence. "If any apologies need to be made, Journeywoman Menolly, they are mine, for I did not give any warning that I intended to come visit today. But it turns out I've a question I hope you can answer, and Gollee Gren _did_ promise the Masterharper we would visit in the future, and I have a bit of time this morning to spare before I'm due at Benden Weyr."

"Well—I can do my _best_ to answer, but perhaps I can send Beauty for Masterharper Robinton—"

"If you wish," Afra said, for he didn't want it to seem like he was avoiding Master Robinton, for he wasn't at all. But he hoped his question did not need a Masterharper to answer. "I came to ask if you knew a song, actually. Did I come to the right place?" he asked with the slightest smile.

"I expect we might know a few things about songs, Master Lyon," Menolly said. "Have you eaten?" And before he could answer, she turned and told an apprentice to have Headwoman Silvina bring something up to the Masterharper's office. The boy ran off, and Menolly beckoned Afra to follow her back up the stairs.

"Is this the first Crafthall you've been to?" Menolly asked as they ascended.

"Yes," Afra said. "I'm given to understand the Healer Hall is here too?"

"Why, yes. Do you need to see the Masterhealer?" A bit of worry was evident when she asked this.

He projected a bit of reassurance. "No, I'm over my sickness now. But if he is here today perhaps I could meet briefly with him."

"We can check when you are ready."

He nodded his thanks. Then he said, "Who is this brown firelizard?"

Menolly laughed. "Oh, he's one of mine. His name is...Brownie. I'm afraid I was very young when I named him, but I don't think I can change it now. I don't think he would respond to anything else!"

And then they were at Master Robinton's office, and with a key from her belt, Menolly let them in.

Upon entering, Afra felt a sense of recognition; while he'd not physically been present in the room until now, he'd reached out with Jeff and Gollee to speak to Master Robinton telepathically enough times that he had half-memories of things in the room, impressions that had come from Robinton's mind. There was the desk and chair where Robinton typically sat, with several stools in front of it for wayward students. There was the great harp in the corner under its dust cover. There were the rows of windows, currently shuttered but being opened up by Menolly to let sunlight stream in. Master Robinton apparently didn't subscribe to the thread-fear that drove many Pernese deep into the rock for shelter both physical and psychological.

What Afra _hadn't_ expected to see were the sheer amount of documents everywhere, in cupboards and hidey holes and on every available surface. To someone who had always dealt with information stored in computers, except when practicing calligraphy as an art form instead of a practical skill, it was astonishing to see how much space information _took up_ when it was stored on vellum. What also surprised him were all the details he noticed which historical holos did not capture. Things were not _neat_ enough for a historical holo; they were real, and messy. And the penmanship! Afra's eyes were drawn to all the different, individual styles of script before he realized this might be taken for snooping and he quickly turned away.

Menolly had caught him looking.

He sent an apology to her. "We do not write with pens except as a hobby, these days. Typically the only penmanship I see is my own; I'm afraid I've never seen so many distinct examples of script in one place before. I did not mean to pry, Journeywoman."

"It's only songs," she said after a moment, and threw the last pair of shutters wide open. A few firelizards took that as invitation to fly in, circle the room once, and fly out again. He also heard her thought, not projected but briefly visible as she lowered shields that had developed nicely: he had other ways to spy if spying was his intent. She would choose to not be paranoid, for now.

He inclined his head, for it was truth. "Still, my apologies. But speaking of songs—"

Menolly seated them at some leather couches on one side of the room. "Yes, you said you had a question, Master Lyon."

Afra decided to ask directly. "Do you know a song with the words, 'Black, blacker, blackest—'"

And surely she did, for she instantly picked up the melody that he hadn't even attempted to convey, and sang the rest of the words that he'd only heard previously issue from the recorded lips of a scared Terran precog.

The tune was decidedly less frightening when sung by a calm Harper.

"Yes, that's it," Afra said. "May I ask what it means? Is there any special significance to it?"

The young woman blinked. "Well...it's an old tune, Master Lyon. I'm afraid I'd have to look up in the archives what era it first entered the Teaching Ballads to see if there's anything in particular that's different about it."

Afra gave a half-smile. "Excuse my ignorance; what are Teaching Ballads?"

So Menolly enlightened him on that, and a minute or so later there was a quick rap on the door before it opened suddenly, and two people entered, one a dark-haired woman with very pale skin in a dress, and the other a tall, brown man.

He automatically rose to bow to them.

"Headwoman Silvina, this is Afra Lyon, Master Talent of the Nine Star League. He's from the planet Earth."

Afra didn't correct her; Callisto was in the Sol system anyhow.

"Oh, my," the woman said. "And I thought the Harper was tall!"

"I thought _I_ was tall," the man beside her quipped with an affable grin, then he took a few steps forward to Afra, and began to offer his hand before hesitating and giving a glance to Menolly, and folding his hands in front of him instead. He'd clearly picked up Talent protocol already, somehow, even if it was not yet second nature to him. "We've not met formally yet, Master Lyon, but I've seen you from afar at Fort Weyr. I'm Journeyman Sebell, Master Robinton's senior Journeyman."

The man had a natural shield, but Afra had enough of a natural ability to read people despite this and heard the slight stress on _senior_. In other words, this man ranked Menolly, and Afra had begun to understand on Pern _rank_ could be as significant as _honor_ was on his native Capella.

Had he done something amiss by approaching Menolly first when Sebell was obviously also present in the Harper Hall today? Perhaps, or perhaps not. Menolly was clearly very Talented and as such a better contact in the absence of Robinton himself between the Harper Hall and the FT&T, unless Sebell had additional Talent beyond his mental shield. Still, Afra had not intended to antagonize the man—although he wasn't at all sure if he had or hadn't, the Journeyman might just be making him aware of the rank differences by default. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Journeyman Sebell, Headwoman Silvina," he said to each in turn. "I hope I have not given offense by contacting Journeywoman Menolly first in Master Robinton's absence; I had a minor question about a song, and as I'd met her previously when Gollee Gren and I gave a presentation on Talent at Fort Weyr, I thought it would be acceptable to reach out to her now."

Silvina's brow furrowed briefly, and she gave a glance at Sebell, but elected to say nothing, although he heard quite clearly that "the Harper" would not be bothered at all by such trivialities.

"You've given no offense, Talent," Journeyman Sebell said pleasantly. "Although I'm afraid Master Robinton is not here right now. Menolly, you _did_ send Beauty to make him aware of this visit?"

"Naturally I contacted him," Menolly said, skipping around the question of whether she'd sent Beauty to do it or not. "He said he trusts that if it were urgent or of major importance, Master Lyon would have contacted him directly."

Afra was impressed by the type of communication her words implied—and suddenly worried. By comparison, the weyrfolk he'd met had made less progress that he'd been able to witness on some levels with their Talent it seemed than what Journeyman Menolly and Master Robinton had made. He was glad Jeff had decided to split up his duties between Benden _and_ the Harper Hall, for it was clear that the Harper Hall might need more training than Gren realized—or wanted to dispense. He cleared his throat. "I actually just came, for now, to ask about a song."

"A song?" Sebell asked in surprise. "Well, we're very good at those, I suppose. Do you want us to create a song, for you?"

He found himself chuckling, for that hadn't been an idea he'd ever entertained. "No. As I was telling Journeywoman Menolly earlier, I was just wondering if the song that had the words, 'Black, blacker, blackest—' had any special significance."

"I was explaining our concept of teaching ballads to him," Menolly said to Sebell. "But I'm not immediately aware of any significance to that song beyond the obvious. We were going to check the archives, later."

"There's nothing in the archives," Sebell proclaimed. "It's a very straightforward song, as many Teaching Ballads are." He looked up at Afra. "You understand, most of the population on Pern will never ride a dragon _between_, or if they do it will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The song therefore explains what _between_ is like, to fortify anyone taking a trip _between_ for the first and possibly only time. It is cold, it is black, and the only thing that will get you out of it again still alive is the dragon which took you _between_ in the first place. It also reinforces our duty to the dragonriders, for when a Pass is taking place, the only thing that stands between us and starvation are the dragons and their riders that flames thread from the sky. Life _does_ depend on fragile dragon wings."

"So it was about—" Afra murmured, thinking of the precog Jeff had shown him again. _It was about _ME_._ He was certain of it; his own trip _between_, sudden and frightening. Only Ramoth's ability to bring them out successfully prevented his death; his own Talent had not found a single landmark to hold onto, to teleport to in that vast, cold, massless darkness.

If only he'd known about the precog _prior_ to the event! The song might have done for him what it was supposed to do for the Pernese; fortify him for _between_.

It was unnerving, however, to realize that young Cassandra now _had_ precogged something for Gren, and now something for Afra. Except, per Jeff they weren't quite sure what had been predicted for Gren yet, any more than Earth Prime had understood this precog was meant for Afra. He would have to tell them to keep an eye on that and update them immediately if anything new was predicted.

Realizing the three Pernese were waiting for him, he blinked, and said sincerely to Sebell, "Thank you. I understand now what I was seeking to understand."

"Did you overhear someone singing it?" Menolly cautiously pressed from beside him.

Afra's eyes landed on Silvina. He was not so sure how much she knew of the Nine Star League.

_Silvina's in the Master's confidence,_ Menolly suddenly whispered to him, understanding his reluctance.

So Afra said, carefully, "I know that you're aware of Talent that allows one to speak mind-to-mind and go _between_, because your firelizards and dragons exhibit these abilities. Do you also have record of individuals who...perhaps dream of the future?"

Both Menolly and Sebell shook their heads no. But Silvina, surprisingly, said otherwise.

"There are sometimes wise people who do such things," she said. "But it's not well-accepted unless channeled through a Craft. At the sea-holds, for example, you'll often find one or two that will refuse to fish a particular day. Once they're...proven...many boats will follow their lead and stay in safe harbors regardless of how blue the sky is."

"Oh," Menolly said. "Yes, my brother has mentioned as much in his travels. But we didn't have that at Half-Circle."

"Would your father have tolerated it if you had?" Sebell asked, softening a bit towards her.

"No," she said with quiet certainty, and Afra suddenly had the impression of a childhood not as pleasant as the life she had now.

He spoke. "Having weather-Talent among fishermen is common...insofar as any Talent is _common_...among our peoples as well. Similarly in mines, or other high-risk professions where those who can 'see' just a little bit ahead have a higher survival rate than those who can't. One of our 'precogs' back on Earth sang this song. But we didn't know why. I believe now she was foreseeing my trip _between_ on Ramoth, prior to falling ill. Had I known this particular Teaching Ballad prior to entering _between_ for the first time, I might not have reacted as I did. Even though I didn't know it then, I do appreciate knowing the meaning of the song now."

"We're very happy to help, Master Lyon," Sebell said. "Is there anything else that you need?"

Afra was very aware then that Sebell was trying to rush him out of the Hall, even if Menolly and Silvina were not. Again he wondered why, although it could just be that the man was naturally more guarded than Menolly was, due to the vast political overtones of this meeting.

If he had more time this morning, he might have attempted to discern—mundanely—why Sebell was uncomfortable with him, but in truth he was due to Benden Weyr shortly and had no intention of standing up the Benden Weyrwoman. So he turned to Menolly. "I would like to discuss Talent with you and your Master, when he is available, for it's clear that not all Talent is confined to your Weyrs, and our original contact and presence has catalyzed a development that could be a hazard to you if we do not relay our own versions of Teaching Ballads in a reasonable timeframe. However I'm due to Benden Weyr shortly so I am not free any longer today. Will you contact us with some appropriate times once you've been able to confer with Master Robinton?"

Menolly nodded. "Yes, and Master Robinton is looking forward to such discussion. He's said he's already learned so much from you."

"Before I go," Afra said, turning back to Sebell, "Is Master Oldive available?"

"We can certainly check," Sebell said. "I haven't seen him leave via dragon today, but that means nothing."

And Afra allowed Sebell to lead him out of the Masterharper's offices, and across the Harper/Healer Hall complex in search of Master Oldive.

#

Sometime later, Menolly had taken up residence at Master Robinton's desk to complete her work. Not directly in _his_ seat, of course, but she'd lowered the glass to protect his musings in the fine sand, and had pulled up one of the stools so she could finish what she'd been working on earlier before Master Lyon's sudden appearance had interrupted her.

Sebell entered too, and quietly shut the door behind him. Then he went to stand looking out one of the Masterharper's windows.

Menolly was aware he was troubled, but didn't think anything of it until he ghosted up beside her and took one of the free stools. "Menolly," he said.

"Hm?" she said absently, drawing in a quarter note.

He said nothing more until she was done with the bar, and then to her surprise, Sebell took the pen out of her hand and stationed it back in the inkwell. She blinked over to him.

"I don't know how to say this, Menolly," Sebell said. "So I hope I can trust in...your good sense, if I put it badly."

This caught her full attention, and she shifted on her stool to face him.

"Why under the heavens did you bring that man _here_, into Master Robinton's office, where he could see...anything?"

She realized at that that Sebell was _disappointed_ in her behavior. In her judgment of the earlier situation.

It was _so rare_ for him to chastise her that for a second she gaped. "But, Sebell—he's been in these rooms before. Would you have me parade him through the Dining Room where everyone could sit and stare? Would you have him detained by Master Domick's curiosity, or affronted by Master Morshall's biases which I _know_ extends to Talent?"

"We have several conference rooms that don't have Master Robinton's private correspondence littered about!"

Guiltily, she remembered how Afra Lyon's eyes _had_ landed, for a moment, on some scrolls out in the open, before he apologized and explained his interest in scripts. But he _had_ apologized.

(Although he _had_ been aware that he'd been taken to a room with much information lying about, demonstrating he was not naive about the situation.)

But he was such an honorable man that she couldn't see him taking advantage of it. Not when he could just drift into their minds and get it in that manner.

"And when exactly was he in these rooms before?" Sebell asked in worry.

"Every time he, and Master Gren, and Earth Prime, spoke to the Masterharper."

"But he wasn't _here_."

"I don't know that there's a difference. He was certainly _here_ in mind then! I _felt_ him!"

"But it's not the same," Sebell insisted. "If he can just get things from people's minds, why did he come here to ask about a song? He has but to spy on any Harper's class of youngsters. So he _had_ to have come here for something else, and you just brought him upstairs and into this room!"

Sebell wasn't wrong. And yet he _was_. His points were valid; she _had_ let a man who was still relatively new to them into Robinton's office where he might see things that had significance to him that they did not fully understand yet. He was from a _very_ different world. And yet she _knew_ Afra Lyon was not one to take advantage of them in this way.

For an instant, she wished she didn't _know_ that, however. If Sebell had been fully right, she would have accepted his censure. But he wasn't. She just didn't know how to explain it in a way that would make sense to him.

Instinctively, she thought of Master Robinton, and his adept way of explaining things, and wished he were here. If he had been, he would have handled the entire matter himself.

Instinctively, in an entirely different manner, she reached out to him for advice—

—and fell into a light mind-merge, although at this point in time she didn't quite have a word for it, other than knowing it was a state she commonly adopted with her firelizards, where two (or more) minds temporarily shared consciousness for a while.

Robinton was tired. He had slept little last night, too keyed up by the resumption of diplomatic matters the day before. He was now meeting with Lytol, trying to persuade him to accept the position of Talent Craftmaster on Pern. This was one of the reasons Robinton hadn't immediately tried to get transport from Ruatha Hold back to the Harper Hall; he'd felt doing so when Afra Lyon had unexpectedly appeared would undo what little progress he'd made with Lytol, by seeming to jump about at the Talent's beck and call. He'd been quite willing to accept that for today Afra Lyon only wanted what he claimed he wanted; knowledge about a song, and held felt her competent to handle it.

It made Robinton thoughtful that the reason behind _that_ had been due to this type of Talent called "precogging" though. Robinton knew of additional tales of folks with a certain danger-sense, or weather-sense, outside of the Seaholds that Silvina had mentioned.

He was not worried with Afra Lyon being in his office, however. Now, if one of those _diplomats_ or _scientists_ had appeared...

Menolly promised that she would use a conference room for _them_.

Robinton sent her a shaft of affection that warmed her down to her toes. Or perhaps he just felt affection for her, and she, being already linked to him, felt it flood through her body as it did his own. She felt a bit like a firelizard stretched out under a beam of warm sun, and felt Robinton's amusement, mostly because he very much disagreed with himself being cast as _the sun_. Silly woman, to attempt to boost his ego like _that!_

And then Sebell's words cut into her consciousness, and what they contained upset her enough that her link with Robinton was broken, the warm "sunlight" gone.

"You can't let your judgment lapse because you think you're in love with another kind man!"

"What?!" she said, trying to grasp after the link, but it was gone. She glared at Sebell instead.

"You're corruptible via kindness, Menolly. I'm sorry, but it's true. Look how you respond to Master Robinton. Or Master Domick—oh, he's not _kind_ in the traditional sense, but you thought _Petiron_ kind when that's a term people who knew him rarely applied, so Domick registers as 'kind' to you too. Then there's Talmor, and _me_, and even Lord Groghe knows that kindness is a way to get in your good graces—now there's this man from the stars, and he treats you _kindly_, and—"

"I think you should shut your mouth the instant you start coming up with theories about me being 'corruptible' by 'kindness'!" Menolly said in scorn. "It's one thing being cautious, and another outright paranoid!"

"I've made you upset," Sebell said with a sigh.

"You're being an _idiot_, and it's offensive. I don't know what it is about Master Lyon, but if you don't like him, just say so and stop inventing reasons for why everyone else should dislike him too! Also, I don't _love_ him, I've barely met him."

"Exactly!" Sebell said.

"Well, I'm glad we agree!" she said, sarcastic.

Sebell screwed his mouth up to the side, clearly trying to figure out what to say to her, then threw up his hands and rose to his feet. "We'll discuss what happened when the Master is back."

"I've already _discussed_, and he doesn't care," Menolly said.

"...what?"

She turned back to her work, lifted her pen from the inkwell. "When you were babbling about corruption by kindness, he told me he didn't care that Afra Lyon had been in here." Menolly began to copy down a new bar of music. "You can ask him when he returns. You'll see."

"Okay. Okay, then I will," Sebell said, his tone somewhere between dubious and subdued. Then he turned and left as quietly as he'd come, and she was glad of it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

When Afra arrived at Benden Weyr (and he was far more comfortable about 'porting into the weyrbowl in broad daylight as opposed to the Harper Hall's courtyard) it was Weyrleader F'lar's younger half-brother that greeted him. Afra remembered that Gollee had been quite eager to speak with the man, and this fueled his own curiosity as they met in a direct fashion for the first time. "I'm pleased to meet you officially, F'nor, rider of brown Canth," Afra said, feeling that he was getting the swing of Pernese rank and titles, possible earlier mishap at the Harper Hall aside.

"Likewise, Talent," F'nor said. "As I understand it, you'll be leading teaching session today for us?"

"Yes," Afra said. "Will you be in the initial group?"

The stocky man nodded. "I will," F'nor confirmed, "Although I don't know that I'm as...Talented...as some of the others. But I'll be there, for better or for worse." A more lighthearted smile bloomed on his face for a moment along with some excitement, before it was gone.

Afra, like Gollee had before, noted the man's weathered skin and felt fairly certain that the man has more Talent than he realized, but decided he would pursue the idea when he tested each individual Talent later on today.

The initial study group was both smaller than he'd have liked, given how much Talent was in the Weyr, but bigger than he'd anticipated. For example, he wasn't giving a private training session to Weyrwoman Lessa and Weyrleader F'lar as he'd feared he might be.

Weyrwoman Lessa _was_ there of course, and Weyrleader F'lar too, but so was F'nor and (his wife?) Brekke. Brekke was perhaps one of the most lovely women Afra had ever laid eyes on (now that he was no longer shell-shocked by his first unfortunate experience _between_), with curly auburn hair and slanted almond eyes, and she maintained a stillness over herself and her emotions that was admirable—although Afra _was_ aware that she was a former dragonrider, and could very well be hiding the same pain inside that Lytol was.

The two last dragonriders in the group were notable because they seemed almost out of place, one bluerider and one greenrider. Like a T-12 and T-9 at a convention of Primes. The greenrider was C'cel, rider of green Aloth, and the bluerider was D'red, rider of blue Nariath. Afra was excited behind his shields to see them there though, because he wanted to know if there were differences in the Talent of riders based on what color dragon they rode, and while this was a very small sample size indeed, at least riders of _all_ of the colors were represented today, green, blue, brown, bronze, and gold.

Afra had brought a com pad with him, small and interpreted by them initially as a slate. Along with it he had a small hand-sized projector, and a few different varieties of EEG nets, tucked into soft bags. It was a minimal kit needed to undertake a field-testing for Talent rating.

They gathered into one of the Weyr's large conference rooms, this one thankfully having plenty of light shining in from the large, dragon-sized opening in the cliffside. Brown Canth and blue Nariath lounged on the ledge in the sun, while golden Ramoth, bronze Mnementh, and green Aloth sent the flocks of livestock in the weyrbowl below into a tizzy as they hunted.

Afra wished for a moment to speak to the lounging dragons, for he had yet to touch mind-to-mind a brown or blue dragon, but he could feel their drowsy comfort in the sunlight, and decided not to rouse them with his nosy, "star-man" questions. If he played his cards right, anyhow, there would be plenty of time for that later.

The Headwoman of the Weyr, Manora, had been warned by Lessa to bring them fortification for today's activities, and there was a table at the back of the room that held pots of klah, bowls of fruit, small pyramids of tarts and meatrolls. No wine, which Afra approved of. If necessary they could apply wine if anyone had any particular inhibitions that manifested, but it was by far a last resort and he hoped not to have to need it.

He took a spot in the front of the room, and felt between the mental tenor of the room, which was more positive than he'd hoped for, and the warm rays, he felt himself relax a bit. Perhaps he was part dragon himself, he thought wryly!

When F'lar and Lessa, Brekke and F'nor, C'cel, and D'red had also settled into their seats before him around the large stone table, Afra spoke.

"I appreciate your willingness to allow me to visit today in order to introduce some of the concepts and knowledge that the FT&T tries to share with Talents throughout the galaxy."

"Were you afraid we wouldn't?" Weyrleader F'lar asked, leaning back in his chair and propping an ankle on his knee as he gazed up at Afra.

"The discovery and training of Talent can be surprisingly contentious, even in the Nine Star League where education on this subject has been available for the past three hundred turns," Afra said.

"Woodsie people exist everywhere," Lessa said to the room.

Afra said, "People fear that which is different."

There was immediate understanding from everyone in the room, nods and knowing eyes. The dragonriders had experienced this, themselves.

Afra let the minor synergy of mind persist for a moment later, then continued. "The number of Talents in the general population on any planet is far outstripped by the number of non-Talents. However, the FT&T also plays a major role in the fast communication between planets. We ship cargo and information vast distances, but to do so day after day, turn after turn, requires the identification and training of individuals with sufficient strength and reach to fulfill these needs. Our need of such Talent outstrips the supply.

"To give some background on the organization I work for, the Federated Telepath and Teleport, or FT&T...this institution was proceeded about three hundred years—or turns—ago by the Parapsychic Center at Blundell in the vast coastal city of Jerhattan, on humanity's homeworld, Earth. Before then, mankind had many stories and tales about psychic powers, but little scientific proof for them until Henry Darrow, a clairvoyant or a Talent who can foresee the future, was in a severe physical accident that sent him to a hospital, which is similar to one of your Healer Halls. At the hospital, a machine made by our scientists was used to monitor the activity of his brain," and Afra gestured at his skull, "While he was unconscious. It did not read his thoughts, but like you can touch flesh and feel the body heat given off by a living being, this machine could monitor the mind and tell if the person inside was still there but sleeping, or truly gone.

"Upon waking, he spotted the woman who would later become his wife and had a clairvoyant incident about it, and as he was still wearing the device to monitor his brain, the electroencephalograph, or EEG, recorded proof that his Talent existed in a real, scientific way. From here, Henry Darrow went on a crusade to find other types of Talent, from telepaths who can hear thoughts to telekinetics who can lift mass, to individuals who can find lost items...finders...and many other variants in between. The common link between all these differing Talents is that they can all be detected scientifically by an EEG when they occur. And because of this, the validity of Talent was able to be accepted by our scientists on Earth.

"Initially," Afra continued, "The focus of the Centre was on Talent in general. Many people who were later found to be telepaths had previously been marginalized for 'hearing voices' that they couldn't prove existed, or they were outright prosecuted if they happened to hear the wrong thoughts at the wrong time and people in power became afraid of them. Telekinetics who did not know how to channel their abilities seemed plagued by 'ghosts' that would throw objects about the room when they were upset, and were cast out as troubled and violent, or otherwise ended up in lives of homelessness and crime. The initial goal of the Parapsychic Center was to find these people, feed them, educate them, shelter them, learn from them how to control these abilities, and find out how Talent could be used to benefit mankind.

"Unsurprisingly, once Talent met Talent, kindred minds also met, and children were born. Children borne to two Talented parents often have stronger Talents than their parents, or even the combined Talents of both. Talent is genetic, it's in the blood, so just like a father might pass on brown eyes to his son, he might also pass on the ability to sense other people's emotions to his children.

"The complexity and strength of Talent pooled as new generations were borne, and entire industries—Crafts—were changed as they found niches for men and women with certain affinities. And at the same time that Earth was pushing to launch its first colony ship to populate a new planet, the ability for a human telekinetic to gestalt with a non-human source of power was discovered...as was the first Prime telepath/telekinetic, Peter Reidinger the first. These two things combined—a Prime Talent, and gestalt with mechanical energy generators so that one did not have to solely rely on the energy coming from within their own body—allowed the colonial ship to be teleported instantly to its new destination, so a journey that was expected to take decades was completed in seconds.

"Out of this confluence of technology and manpower, the FT&T was founded, with a focus on interstellar communication and transport. The Parapsychic Centers still exist, and work with supporting and training other types of Talent, but the Blundell building is now the site of Earth Tower.

"It's been about three hundred years since Talent was understood to be a real phenomenon, and about two-hundred since Earth Tower was established. Currently the FT&T has Prime Talents working in Towers established on Earth, Callisto Moonbase, Capella, Procyon, Betelgeuse, and Deneb. It previously had a Prime on Altair, but for now that Tower is run by a duo of T-2s."

He gave them a moment to digest what he had so far, and to ask questions, but aside from a few nods, they watched him expectantly.

"As I see you've understood, 'Prime' is a word for 'first', and it arises out of our rating system for the strength of individual Talents. T-1s are the most powerful, and when we're speaking of a T-1 Tower Talent, which is a person with both telepathy and telekinesis, it is understood that a Tower Prime is able to reach all human-occupied worlds in the galaxy with their minds. T-2 is the next step down; a pair of T-2s can approximate a Prime's strength, but they have a reduced reach, and may not be able to reach all planets, Deneb in particular, which is much further out from Earth than any of our other colonies. Three T-3s can approximate a pair of T-2s strength, but would provide a severely limited experience compared to a Prime, or even the T-2 pair. The T-rating scale goes all the way down to T-12, beyond which Talent may still be present but is usually so weak that it is not very reliable or trainable. Twelve T-12s do not approximate a Prime's powers."

"What's your rating, Master Lyon?" Lessa asked. "Or is that a rude question?"

"In this context, with me as an instructor, it's not rude," Afra said. "In other contexts, particularly if you are unsure if the other person wants to be 'outed' as a Talent or not, it could be a faux pas. Bias still remains an issue sometimes for Talents.

"I am a T-3. I am a double telepath: I can both hear other's thoughts and project my own. As this is not always the case with telepaths, it's counted as two distinct Talents. I am a double empath: I can both feel other people's emotions, and project my own. I am a telekinetic: I can lift objects with my mind. And I can teleport, I can move from point A to B without crossing the distance in between. Or," Afra added with a slight smile, "without going _between_. We proved prior that the way a dragon teleports and the way I do are very different.

"I am a T-3 in my telepathy and telekinesis, which is enough to lend me an overall rating of T-3 for Tower and official purposes. It's possible I am _not_ a T-3 in my empathy. I was previously tested as a T-4 empath in my youth, and my position later at Callisto Tower provided me with enough practice to go up a level in my telepathy and telekinesis, but not as much practice with my empathy. I admit I've not specifically been tested recently for my empathy rating, given it is not the facet of my Talent I've placed the most focus on. Talent changes over time like a muscle; the more you use it, the more you _can_ use it. And if you neglect it, it will atrophy."

There was a natural pause there, and F'lar said, "Can we see this machine of yours that detects Talent?"

Afra inclined his head. "Of course." Swiftly, he hooked com slate to projector, and neural nets to slate, so that on the wall appeared a large graph labeled Afra Lyon. As he held one of the nets in his hands, the graph twitched slightly, throwing odd readings as it caught nerve activity in his hands. Afra approached the dragonriders, with the net spread over his fingers like a game of cat's cradle. "This is placed on the skull, over the hair. In the days of old we had to shave one's head in patches to have it work efficiently, but thankfully that's no longer required," he said with a smile.

"It looks like a woman's hair-piece," D'red said thoughtfully when Afra passed by him. He was a stocky young man with red-brown hair and grey eyes.

"Not nearly pretty enough," Lessa proclaimed, as Afra passed her with it. "Although I'm sure the Smithcraft's women would enjoy it well enough, if they could take it apart."

Afra finished walking by everyone, strangely buoyed by Lessa's comment. So there _were_ women in Crafts other than Menolly! He would pursue that line of inquiry later though. "If you look at the graph projected on the wall, you can see there's a few blips here and there where it's picking up nerve activity in my hands, but no real pattern yet. Now, to demonstrate, I will put it on," and he did just that, carefully aligning the small nodes to the proper points on his skull.

_I hate those things,_ Gollee commented, projecting sulky disgust, and in response, the graph, which had started to come alive with Afra's "at-rest" brainwaves, went nuts with vivid peaks and troughs, and in large, clear letters at the bottom the screen said TELEPATHIC SENDING RECIEVED. EMPATHIC SENDING RECIEVED. PEAK STRENGTH DETECTED: T-6.

"Master Gren was just telling me that he's not fond of the EEG nets," Afra told them. "And you can see that I received a telepathic sending was clearly recorded, here," and Afra pointed at one section in the timeline, "And an empathic one here."

_To be perfectly clear,_ Gollee Gren said to everyone on a broad band, sending the EEG monitoring Afra's head into fits of activity again which it duly recorded, _I said I HATE them. Mostly because I've never met a Talent who wants to wear the stupid thing on their heads!_

"Did everybody hear that?" Afra inquired casually as the dragonriders chuckled, shielding his amusement away—which was rather ineffectual when the screen flashed SHIELDING IN PROGRESS. PEAK STRENGTH DETECTED: T-5.

(As Damia had said once in great exasperation during a training session with him: _Fuck you, EEG. Fuck you. When I shield you DON'T shout it out to everyone! How rude!_ She had not been very receptive to him chiding her for her language.)

In response to Afra's question though, and to his great surprise, everyone nodded, from Lessa to C'cel.

_You've a regular group of telepaths here, my friend, _Gollee Gren said to him privately, then vanished.

_TELEPATHIC SENDING RECIEVED. PEAK STRENGTH DETECTED: T-4._

"What's this about 'peak strength'?" F'lar asked, gesturing at the screen with a hand.

"Good question," Afra said. "While there is necessarily a human element to fully classify a Talent's rating, you can still approximate a rating by measuring the strength of the signal being received or sent by the Talent. For example, a Talent who is genuinely a T-12 will never generate a sending, or do a lift, with the same strength as a T-5, short of an extraordinary circumstance that could destroy their Talent permanently. But when you put a net on a Talent, for several hours, and put them through exercises designed to promote Talent, you will collect data that will allow you to establish a potential baseline for their minimal abilities.

"You'll see the last few entries here for me have ranged from T-6 to T-4. This is because Gollee Gren is physically on the other side of the continent, at Fort Weyr, and it takes a telepath of at least a T-6 rating to project or receive over such a distance. Now," Afra said. "This actually demonstrates a bit why a human element is still needed. If Gollee Gren was in this room for me, these ratings would drop to say T-10 through perhaps T-8, the strength of telepathy needed to 'path across a room or two. This would not be because either Gren's rating or my own have changed. It would be caused due to the differences in environment. If we're in the same room together, less strength is needed to complete the sending, and this machine records the presence and strength of the signal, without adjusting for any variables such as the distance the expression of Talent is occurring across, or the maximum abilities of the receiver. It assumes, as a baseline, that all activity is taking place in the same room as the Talent herself.

"As another example, if I am standing here, as a T-3, but the person testing me is a _T-9_, and we are testing _my_ receptive telepathy, I'm not going to register as anything more than a T-9 at least from a receptive standpoint until a different Talent with a stronger ability reaches out to test me. My mind will not always do everything at a T-3 power level; that's inefficient. It will adjust to the amount of effort required."

"But if it does register you as a T-9, that's a fact," F'nor said. "Since you demonstrated that, you can _at least_ do that much?"

"Correct."

"If we consent to being measured," Lessa said. "Will you be _able_ to measure us?"

Afra bowed his head. "If every one of you happen to be T-2s or above, that is to say, stronger than I am, I am experienced enough to work around my own limitations and determine your ranking concretely despite that hurdle. Also, Gollee Gren was previously head of recruiting at Earth Tower for a decade, and has worked with _many_ Talents stronger than he."

_Hey! I know I'm no Afra Lyon or Prime, but I'm no slouch. Not THAT many stronger than me!_

_ TELEPATHIC SENDING RECIEVED. EMPATHIC SENDING RECIEVED. PEAK STRENGTH DETECTED: T-3._

_ Better check your own rating, old man, _Afra sent to him. _That registered as a T-3 'path!_

_TELEPATHIC SENDING SENT. EMPATHIC SENDING SENT. PEAK STRENGTH DETECTED: T-5._

The dragonriders' eyes flicked up to the screen, but Afra chose not to enlighten them. "We would be able to cross-reference between us and correctly place you until a Prime was available to do a final confirmation of your abilities."

And then something he _should_ have anticipated, but hadn't, happened.

_Does it work the same for dragons?_ Ramoth's sweet soprano "voice" echoed in Afra's head.

A piercing electronic squeal emitted from the com slate in his hands, startling Afra more than the dragon's sending had, and as he whirled around to check the projector, the EEG spat out gibberish into the air, flashed epileptic colors, and died, the illuminator spitting arcane geometric lines of light into the air before flickering out.

The dragonriders, to a man and woman, looked very spooked by this display of technology gone wrong. Afra himself was possessed by an urge to cackle wildly...which he did not do. "Ramoth," he said with a tone eerily under control. "My answer would be, no, this equipment is not yet rated for use with draconic minds. As this spectacular failure just showed us." He pursed his lips and looked down at the slate in his hands, and held down the button in the side for ten long seconds.

It didn't boot back up. Scratching open a small plug nestled into the side, he removed the memory chip and slipped it into his pocket, while removing the uncomfortable and now useless hairnet from his head. He _really_ wanted to see if any data had been saved before Ramoth's mental feedback through the EEG had crashed it, but that would come later when he could try the chip in Gren's kit.

"What," F'lar said eventually into the silence, "under the bloody Red Star was _that_?"

"Mechanical failure," Afra said. "My best guess at the moment is that some feedback particular to Ramoth's mind 'pathing my own caused the EEG software to go into an unanticipated state, causing this...light show as the software crashed." He realized F'lar might not understand what he had just said. "Imagine a dragon landing on top of one of Master Fanderal's machines. From the perspective of this," and Afra waggled the dead com slate at them. "That's what just happened. Unexpected dragons."

It was Brekke who broke the silence, bursting into uncharacteristically wild laughter that she quickly tried to muffle in her skirt. The others quickly joined her, and Afra heard lots of 'pathing between riders and their dragons, commenting on the episode. The dragons all sounded more curious than anything—or smug that they'd "crashed" star-man technology just by speaking!

_Gollee,_ he sent, for the man apparently hadn't been listening in during the episode. _We may have some trouble using EEGs on the dragonriders..._

#

_You are insufferable,_ Lessa said to Ramoth privately when the queen exhibited pride that her mind was too powerful for this machine. _Truly, entirely insufferable. You have no intention of apologizing to him, do you?_

_I did not do it on purpose,_ the queen pointed out. _But you did not want to be measured, anyway._

No, she hadn't, although Afra Lyon had made no protest when she'd made it clear he could only test them if they consented first. _Well, don't do it a-purpose. Unless we intend to._

_If I do it a-purpose, we'll intend to._

Lessa sighed. "Master Lyon," she said, "Perhaps fate is telling us we should move onto some practical exercises now. I find the history interesting, and the system of ranking, but I think we have enough to chew over for one day."

F'lar made a sound of assent next to her.

So Afra Lyon graciously complied with her request, and the rest of the morning—

—was much more fascinating than she'd expected it to be.

When Afra stopped lecturing, and sat down with each of them one by one and asked if they would permit him to take their hands so he could assess them for Talent, Lessa could _feel_ his strength and control, bright and citrusy. Previously, he had always been shields, shields, shields, with a good dose of politeness, but when in his element his yellow eyes were as keen-sighted as F'lar's, and as he relaxed he exhibited a warm good humor similar in some ways to the Harper's.

And his mind! Lessa was no stranger to assessing strength—which he certainly had, although, she suspected, not as much as she did—but against her own better judgment she felt impressed by his skill. He did not hobble about, making things up as he went along; everything he did had a purpose, a place, and an effect. Yet he was not one of those nitpicking martinets when it was not necessary, something that pleased her. He used his head, in more ways than the obvious.

Without the use of his machines, he cautiously assessed Lessa as a double telepath/empath, with more strength and sensitivity on the telepathy side. Brekke, he decided, was the opposite, with more strength as an empath...although he hesitated oddly before saying it, and complimented her on her shields and how well they were made, but also noting it may take longer to fully assess her empathy due to them.

F'lar and F'nor where telepathic telekinetics, although Master Lyon noted much of their abilities seemed to be dormant or untapped. F'nor had receiving empathy, F'lar did not, or if he did it was not yet manifesting.

C'cel was an empath with some telepathy, and possibly something else Afra did not elaborate on, which Lessa intended to figure out later. Afra sat with him for a long while, just holding his hands, and then pulled him off to the side to speak privately to him. Lessa would have been suspicious if she hadn't seen sheer relief in the man's face after Afra had spoken to him. Brekke had tried to work with him before, but it had been a rocky relationship, with the loss of her queen dragon obviously weighing heavily on her the more she interacted directly with C'cel and Aloth. Lessa herself had just often found herself impatient with the greenrider, and sometimes uncharitably wishing a different man had been the one to first encounter the mind from the stars.

D'red was a telepath, and a telekinetic. Surprisingly, as Afra did a few exercises with him, his progress manipulating a ball across the table quickly outstripped either F'nor's or F'lar's. This made the half-brothers thoughtful, but D'red nervous as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at them to see how they'd react to a mere bluerider outdoing them.

_They won't bite you for doing well, you know that?_ she sent to him, privately she hoped.

He was startled, then offered her a brief smile, before he dropped his eyes back to the ball he was moving, and continued his practice.

Near the end of the time allotted this day for such things, as Manora entered and began conferring with Lessa which pots of klah needed to be refreshed, and which trays refilled, Lessa saw that Afra noticed she was watching F'nor out of the corner of her eye, and he moved from where he was observing the room as a whole, and approached them. "Would you like to try some of these exercises, Headwoman?" he asked her.

Manora straightened up in surprise, a pot of klah in her hand. "Oh, Master Lyon. I'm afraid I'm not a dragonrider!" she said with a chuckle.

"Nor am I," he pointed out with a smile.

Lessa said thoughtfully to Manora, "It wouldn't hurt to give it a try."

"I'm much too old—"

"Master Robinton is a Talent," Afra said. "And he's of your generation, is he not? "

She blinked. "I suppose he is..."

So Afra coaxed Manora over to one of the tables, as F'nor caught on what was happening with his birth-mother, and began to grin with mischief. A sly smile appeared on F'lar's face as well, as he brushed his forelock out of his eyes to watch the scene.

"F'nor," Manora said sternly.

His grin didn't abate. Nor did his half-brother's.

And a few minutes later they discovered, to everyone's surprise, that Manora was _not_ a telepath even if she often seemed to have uncanny knowledge about near everything happening in the Weyr...but when Afra demonstrated moving a ball to her, while holding her hands, then had her try, she punted him backwards out of his seat to the surprised shouts of the dragonriders.

The ball, meanwhile, stayed exactly where it was.

"Shards, I _knew_ I shouldn't have tried, now I'm throwing grown men out of their chairs!" Manora said in as close to panic as Lessa had ever seen her, as F'nor and F'lar, grinning fit to break their faces, lifted a somewhat dazed Afra off of the ground by his shoulders, and Manora began sorting through her skirts for some medicine to soothe Afra's bruises from the cold, hard stone floor.

"Feel better now the Headwoman's outdone you?" Lessa asked D'red as he watched the commotion from the sidelines.

He chuckled. "A little bit. Good thing she knows how to mend a head as well as bash it in!"

When Afra had waved off felis, and numbweed, and had managed to calm Manora down by insisting he was fine, Lessa said, "And how did you know Manora could do this...this telekinesis?"

Afra nodded to the trays of food. "You've already been using it," he said to the Headwoman. "If I said you've never dropped a tray in decades, no matter how heavy, would I be right? Also, such things run in bloodlines."

Manora looked over at F'nor. "His sire was a dragonrider."

"Half of him still came from you," Afra said, and Lessa could _feel_ the shaft of apology Afra sent to F'nor for talking about him like he wasn't there.

Manora gave Afra a searching look, then smiled slightly and said, "True enough, but _only_ when he's doing well! When he gets in trouble, he's most definitely F'lon's son!"

F'nor and F'lar both laughed.

#

That evening, there was a meeting with the diplomatic team, and science teams.

Gollee Gren found Afra, and set down his com slate before him. "Here you go."

Afra raised his brows in surprised pleasure at Gollee's conscientiousness, then, somewhat stiffly as the bruises he'd gained earlier in the day had started to be felt, fished out the memory chip from his trouser pocket and fit it into Gollee's slate.

Behind him, Gollee hovered, one hand planted on the back of his chair.

"So here's our earlier back and forth," Gollee mused, pointing over Afra's shoulder at the saved states marked clearly in the log. Scroll down..."

Afra did so, and the screen froze, telling them it was attempting to recover corrupted data. A moment later, it told them it had failed.

"Yeah, I'm going to look at the raw feed," Afra said, and closed the EEG program and selected a different one and reopened the raw data file without the polished GUI to interpret the data for them.

"So," Gollee murmured. "Do you think this stuff at the end is bullshit, or valid? Looks pretty screwy—"

As they conferred, others from their party entered the room and seated themselves. Then the meeting started, and Gollee stopped hovering and took a proper seat next to Afra.

The progress reports from each faction of the team were not much different from expected; the three diplomats were in talks with Fort Hold, Ruatha Hold, and Benden Hold, having decided to speak to the Lords by way of the traditional Pernese seniority. There was a bit of irritation at this; Lords Groghe, Raid, and Jaxom were so different in age, experience, and outlook that it was nigh impossible to unify them, which did not bode well for the prospect of treating with Pern as a unified whole. Not to mention the factor of Lytol acting as an advisor to Lord Jaxom, having been Lord-Warder of Ruatha only a year or two prior.

"Talents," the lead Diplomat said, turning to them. "As we understand it, ex-Lord Lytol was formerly a dragonrider. Do either of you have any intelligence you might want to share, given you've both blocked off so much time to speak to the Weyrs and their telepathic dragons?"

"Lytol is adept at weaving battle-scenes," Afra said, his face and voice bland. He was not so sure at this point that he wished to betray a fellow Talent who was still so wounded by the loss of his dragon.

"Is that where he got the facial scarring?" one of the other diplomats asked. "Battle?"

"I wouldn't know," Afra said truthfully. "I advise tact if approaching the subject; he still feels the death of his dragon strongly." Then, after silently conferring with Gren, who had assessed riders at Fort Weyr today and agreed there was an incredibly strong likelihood that every single rider was a telepath or empath, and there was no use tiptoeing around it, "He is a Talent. As is Lord Jaxom. Going forward, it is fairly safe to assume any dragonrider, or former rider such as Lytol, is very likely to be a telepath."

This caused instant reaction.

"_Every_ dragonrider?" one of the scientists said. "That's a third of their Conclave!"

_Now they understand why Earth Prime insisted in including us,_ Gollee said to Afra drolly.

Afra said, "The dragonriders are telepathically bonded to their dragons. Our working theory as we've met various dragonriders and have learned more about them is that to become a dragonrider at all requires telepathy in the human to begin with."

"But you're not entirely certain?" the head Diplomat said.

Afra shook his head. "We've only interviewed a handful of riders, out of the thousands that exist. There's still a possibility for selection bias at this early stage." He did not mention that their alternate theory was that bonding to a dragon _induced_ telepathy. The ramifications of _that_ were it to be true would resound across the Nine Star. However, they were not actually at a point or at a standing with the Weyrs that they could test that theory by meeting with candidates for Impression prior to a hatching to see if they were Talented, and then after, to see which ones Impressed. And even if they came to such a point, there was a likelihood that Earth Prime would immediately classify such information as top secret if he could get away with it. The last thing the Pernese—or the Talents—needed were non-Talented humans attempting to Impress one of the dragons sorely needed as a fighting force on Pern in some misguided attempt to become a telepath. Particularly if the fragmented response to the diplomats and the autonomy of the Holds meant one Hold might get flooded with tourists at some point due to a poor decision made by their Holder, if one decided to open their Holds to the Nine Star League. Should that occur, the other parts of Pern (such as the Weyrs) would be helpless to stop it—if the "autonomy of each Hold, Hall, and Weyr" were true.

If only Robinton had been able to remain as the sole mouthpiece for Pern. It would make things so much more easier, Afra thought.

Gollee was somewhat ambiguous towards this idea, and suggested F'lar and Lessa as a far more likely pair to stand for Pern, should the need arise—or the decision be made by the Pernese themselves.

Afra and Gollee spent the rest of the meeting fielding questions from the others that were essentially fretting about Talents that didn't look to the FT&T for guidance, while attempting not to _appear_ to be fretting. The only good outcome is that the diplomats suddenly were much more open to suggestions coming from Afra and Gollee, seeing them less as intruders that Earth Prime had strong-armed them into accepting, and allies from the perspective of if they were Talents, at least they were _Nine Star_ Talents, with a certain record of holding specific positions due to the laws and regulations and ethics enacted around the usage of Talent in the League. The Pernese Talents were a much greater unknown.

Finally, however, it drew late, and Gollee and Afra retreated to Gren's quarters to pick through the data that had fried Afra's slate.

An unfortunate amount, they concluded, had been junk spawned aimlessly by the program as it convulsed to its death, but there was _some_ that looked legitimate, on the edges of the sensor's limits, which jived with the impression Afra and Gollee had that dragons' minds were "pitched" a bit differently. Together, they drew up a manifest of sensor parts to send to Earth Prime. It was quite probable with some tuning, they could establish an array that would handle the minds of dragons, but it would involve some trial and error in the field as they did not have access to FT&T facilities that would allow them to observe the brainwaves of dragons or riders from within a stable, shielded environment. Therefore, they needed spare parts. Lots of them.

Callisto Tower was operational first, so just as even the West coast of the Northern Continent was turning into bed, Afra pushed out the request for her.

_And how are you doing, Afra?_ Rowan said once she'd taken the packet he sent. _Not a month and we miss you dearly! Your nephew is...a capable young man. But not you!_

_You're not paired with Cera?_ Afra asked, as that had been the plan.

There was a mental shrug from Rowan. _We decided it was best if she experienced other Towers as well._

Typically such a statement popped up when _Damia_ was involved, and mother and daughter were clashing. It was more rare for Cera to be on the end of her mother's displeasure. But Afra kept his thoughts to himself, and answered her earlier question. _I'm not vomiting up my innards now, which is a decided improvement. And working with the Weyrs has already proved interesting!_

_What about the Harpers?_ Rowan asked in such a nonchalant way that Afra was immediately suspicious.

_What about them?_ Afra asked.

_Any promising...what do the Pernese call it...fosterlings?_

Afra had not expected this question. _I wasn't aware that Jeff was thinking of any "fostering" arrangements. We've only just picked up diplomatic efforts again._

_ Ah. Well. If there are efforts in that direction, I think I might like a bit of music in my household,_ Rowan sent with a wink. Then she pressed a ghostly kiss to his cheek, and vanished.

As Afra withdrew his mind back to Pern, the only thing he could think of that would trigger such a request from Rowan had been Damia's thought quite some time ago, before anyone had ever set foot on Pern, to train Menolly. Yet, Afra would have expected Rowan to be abjectly against anyone becoming over-involved in affairs on Pern at this point. What purpose could she possibly have for Menolly? In her own household, of all places? And it wasn't as if Rowan was particularly fond of other women, either, although Menolly would likely be low-key enough not to trigger Rowan's ire.

Well, who knew. He supposed it would all become clear soon enough.

Afra let Gollee know the request was in, and then began to undress so he could turn in for the night.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"I want to thank you, Lord Jaxom, and Ruth, for agreeing to my request to tag along this threadfall," Gollee Gren said, as he methodically went through all the straps and snaps on his borrowed wherhides to make sure everything was secure. He was starting to sweat, the inner layers of lamb's wool trapping his body heat efficiently, but knew once they were in the air he'd cool down fast enough.

Lord Jaxom was a relatively serious young man, with long black hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. He almost looked Denebian, if Denbians had had less Welsh stock in them and more east Asian. On his cheek a hair-thin scar meandered, nearly invisible unless you caught him from a certain angle, whereupon it was a shiny white. Gollee had begun to notice such markings were common to dragonriders, but not to Lords or Crafters, and assumed it was the remains of "threadscore".

As Lord Jaxom finished tightening straps on Ruth, he came over to Gollee and checked _his_ straps too, his face studiously blank although Gollee could sense he was a bit uncomfortable to be doing so. Gollee sent a wordless reassurance, only to have both Ruth and Jaxom pin him with a look for a second, before Jaxom resumed his checks of Gollee's person. Then Jaxom said, with a sort of polished (although undeniably Pernese) enunciation Gollee was beginning to expect from Pern's upper class, and its Harpers, "I agree with Master Robinton, Lytol, and others that cross-crafting will be a benefit to us. In my own way I'm already a cross-crafter, if you consider Holding and Threadfighting to be two distinct crafts, although I became this unintentionally. It only makes sense that, if you're brave enough to ask, someone else is brave enough to let you watch a fall up close and personal."

"Being called 'brave' is perhaps the most charitable thing anyone's said of me," Gollee said lightly. "Usually it's 'brash', or 'foolhardy'."

Jaxom's reserve broke long enough to flash Gollee a quick grin, then motioned Gollee over to Ruth.

Ruth was supposed to be an "aberration" (as Gollee couldn't help but have picked up from the members of the Conclave and Weyrs he'd met so far). Gollee supposed if one was used to the chromatic dragons an albino dragon might cause sudden consternation over its fitness, but Ruth was quite attractive in form insofar as dragons went to his inexperienced eye, and as large as an elephant, which to Gollee's mind, was by no means _small_.

_What is an elephant?_ a curious, male voice said in Gollee's head.

Gollee blinked, for he had most certainly been shielded. But he held no ill-will towards Ruth's question, particularly since the dragon did not seem discomforted by his thoughts. Maybe Ruth was used to it by now.

So he said, "An elephant is a very large Terran animal, the largest natural animal on Earth, in fact. It gets about by way of four strong, sturdy limbs, and as a result has an extremely long and mobile nose to assist it with manipulating food and objects."

"With its nose?" Lord Jaxom said suspiciously.

"The variety of life is wild, even on mankind's home planet," Gollee said with a grin.

_I think I should like to see an elephant,_ Ruth said, then crouched slightly so that Lord Jaxom and Gollee Gren could mount.

"Perhaps you will, Ruth!" Gollee said with optimism. If dragonriders were ever to visit Earth, Ruth would certainly be the easiest one to transport. The Primes might have choice words to say if ever asked to 'port too many of the other, much larger dragons of Pern.

And then Jaxom was ensuring Gollee's emergency straps were secure, as well as his own, and said to Gollee, "I heard Master Lyon had some trouble with _between_ his first time. Will you as well? We'll be coming in and out of _between_ possibly at high frequency."

"Now that it's expected, I'll be fine," Gollee said. "And I've a Harper song to fortify me: _Black, Blacker, Blackest—"_

_ And cold beyond the frozen things,_ Ruth said.

"Where is _between _where there is naught—" Jaxom said as Ruth stood up and shifted his weight onto his back legs, while opening his wings. With a jarring leap, Ruth took them skywards, his great wings pumping furiously.

"To life," Gollee said, in Lord Jaxom's ear as he pulled his steampunkesque goggles down over his watering eyes, "But fragile dragon w—"

#

When they burst back into reality, the cold of _between_ rolling off their shoulders and flanks, Gollee needed to take a moment to recover his wits. Afra had been right; reality had literally vanished around him. No energy, no mass, no minds, no rider and no dragon, no coordinates to get back home.

His heart galloped around his chest, and he found his fingers clenched tight around Lord Jaxom's belt, having squeezed tighter and tighter while _between_ when he hadn't been able to feel it before.

He let go, somewhat embarrassed about practically clinging to a man young enough to be his own son.

Instead, he turned his focus outwards. It was dawn, and they were over the sea. It seemed as if it shouldn't _quite_ be dawn now, but he wasn't certain how many timezones they had crossed in their 'port, so shrugged the discrepancy away.

Somehow, despite being larger than an elephant, Ruth _flew_ the way a flying creature should fly. His wings stretched wide, harnessing air in such a way that they shifted up and down, and back and forth, as if no amount of telekinesis or levitation was being used at all to keep them airborne. This sparked a powerful curiosity in Gren, but given they were headed into threadfall he kept such thoughts and such curiosity tightly coiled in his mind, in order not to distract the pair that would be keeping his hide in one piece.

There was also a comfort, Gollee realized, in having another being levitate you so high, instead of yourself. Oh, he could fly if he wanted to, but his physical body was not made for such things and hindered more than helped such efforts. Flying as a Talent was entirely a case of mind over matter. Not so for a dragon it seemed, and he felt quite content to sit on Ruth's back, between two stiff white ridges, and listen to the wind blow about them as the dragon made his adjustments to stay aloft.

A moment later, Jaxom reached down to dig in one of the many firestone bags that festooned Ruth's sides. He came out with a chunk of firestone, although to Gren it looked like coal. Ruth twisted his neck back upon itself, and accepted the chunk of firestone, and began to chew it, with loud, cracking, popping, and grinding noises that Gollee could hear even over the wind around them.

Then, as he did this, other dragonriders began to appear out of _between_. Above, wing upon wing in military formation, mostly green or blues, with the larger forms here and there of brown and bronze.

After that, at the same lower altitude as Ruth was, a wing of queens.

The queens were different from the other dragons. It was now that he realized for all Ruth's elephant-like size, you _could_ call him small when you were sitting on him and abruptly above you came a neck that went on and on and on, and then a chest, belly, legs, and tail, each of which were quite massive. It was like being in a receptive sporting sled thinking you were _totally_ the shit and you owned the god-damned road, only to have a great cargo lorry flow past, making the air and ground quake in its wake.

_You have interesting thoughts,_ Ruth said, chewing and swallowing his stone. _I do not understand them, but they are interesting. _Then he opened his mouth wide, jaws gaping, and a great gout of _fire_ burst out.

Promptly, Gollee engaged in meditative techniques to calm his mind, ones that Afra had taught him long ago. Otherwise, there was a high probability he would have let out a squeal like his daughter at her most excited and babbled something distracting like: _OMFG I'monaFIREBREATHINGDRAGON, oh god, so cool! EEEEEEE!_

A moment later, the blast of absolutely _foul_ smelling backdraft from Ruth's fiery exhalation helped with his emotional control, as Gollee found himself gagging at the stench, even as he was glad of the rather primitive glass goggles over his eyes. _Oh, that's legitimately vile..._

_Sorry,_ Ruth said. _The wind shifted._

Jaxom fed his companion more firestone, and once Gollee had gotten his stomach under control, Gollee gazed up again at the great golden queens around them. To his surprise, Ruth was the only one engaging in the consumption of firestone. The queens, in contrast, had what could only be metal chemical tanks strapped to their sides, to which long, metallic wands were attached. The biggest one came up over the queen's shoulder, generally the right but sometimes the left. A secondary, much smaller one was at the queenrider's side, held at the ready in the queenrider's offhand.

As he watched, each queenrider and dragon pair tested the devices, and flames shot out of the nozzle ends. As they did this, the local space between minds lit up with reports from dragons that each pair's devices were functional, and that they were ready to meet thread!

Then, things became quiet psychically, and dragon eyes whirled from excited orange, to a deeper and deeper red. Heads, human and dragon, were looking east, so Gollee Gren did too.

And then he saw it; it looked like a peculiar rain at first, perhaps some exotic type of smog, but his uncertainty whether what he was looking at _was_ thread or some early-morning fog was quickly banished as the _certainty_ of the dragons, and a sudden anger, rose about him in nearly a suffocating blanket of emotion.

Gren briefly closed his eyes, reinforcing his shields. Doing so cut out some of the human chatter, but much of the draconic remained, _different_ in a way he could not quite fully block out, not when the dragons felt every word they 'pathed was _necessary_. That fundamental _need_ seemed to force his mental ears to hear.

He heard Lioth's orders to fly steady, steady, the dragon's mind nearly as much N'ton as itself. He heard the reports from the bronze wingleaders, and from the Weyrwoman who lead the queens and Ruth.

Then, when the leading edge of threadfall was about a hundred feet from shore, Fort Weyr was given the command to meet it.

And meet it they did. The precise, regular formation of dragonwings ceased being static, and turned into a carefully orchestrated _Talented_ dance of telekinetic lifting, and winking in and out of _between_.

The first strands of thread that got past the upper layers of dragons were met enthusiastically by the queens, who bellowed their defiance and utilized their flamethrowers to burn the thin filaments to crisps. He saw one queenrider whip up her smaller offhand wand to reach a small clump that'd broken away, burning that too before it could touch her or her dragon's skin.

Gollee was so busy watching the work of the dragons around him and above him, that he was taken by surprise when Ruth suddenly twisted to the side, and opened his maw again to cover the clump in flames. He grasped his safety straps around him as they jolted from side to side, and only barely restrained himself from utilizing his own telekinesis to keep himself steady. But he didn't, trusting in Ruth to keep them safe.

And Ruth did. That clump demolished, the white dragon's flying straightened out, and he returned to his previous position—

—before abruptly taking them _between_.

The sudden shift _between_ was, in several ways, more unsettling than the first. He had not known they were going to enter _between_, and as a Talent, particularly one of a high T-rating, he was not entirely comfortable with being 'ported unexpectedly.

And then they were back in the world again, and Ruth was diving down, rushing to catch a tangle of thread before it got into an awkward or dangerous spot beneath one of the huge queens—

Flame. Rise. _Between._ Swerve. Flame. _Between._

Gollee Gren's initial excitement was quickly dimmed as the reality of being stuck on a dangerous, uncertain rollercoaster ride-with no way to get off that wouldn't potentially cause a derailment-hit him. His visage became grim, and then, when the soul-scorching _scream_ both physical and mental from a scored pair shrieked through his mind before cutting off like death had taken them _between_, he lifted his eyes higher, beyond the queens, and began to watch and _study_ with a single-minded intensity.

Sure, the dragonriders enjoyed an unrivaled prestige on the planet Pern—

—but like Primes within the FT&T, it was because they did never-ending, mentally draining and sometimes dangerous _work_ to keep other people alive.

As Ruth moved them away from the coast with the movement of the rest of the Weyr, Gren began to see farms and villages underneath him, any one of which could be ruined if a single tangle of thread hit the ground and burrowed. The sheer _necessity_ of all of this became fully understood in his mind, and he hoped, for Pern's sake, that somewhere in the near future the Nine Star League _would_ have a better solution to this world-wide problem than _this_.

Gollee did not realize the final trip _between_ was final until Ruatha Hold appeared below them, and Ruth glided down to land them before its doors. He watched, mind numb from the unending urgency of dragons fighting thread just moments before, as Jaxom undid his straps and dismounted. Only when Jaxom offered a hand in assistance to get down did Gollee realize that they were _done_ for today.

Even if, as he found when he stretched his mind back to N'ton and Lioth, the Weyr itself still fought.

Exhausted, despite not having _done_ anything, Gollee removed his straps and dismounted, and then he helped Lord Jaxom get Ruth out of his harness, neither of them realizing, or if they did, caring, that Gollee read Jaxom's surface thoughts to know what to do and where to put things. They worked together efficiently without vocal comment, and because of this Ruth was free to go sooner than usual and take a long, deep drink before starting to disgorge used firestone into a reeking pit clearly designated for such things.

Then they bathed Ruth in one of the streams flowing through the wide Ruath valley, and, uncaring of any potential culture-clashes, bathed themselves of firestone stink as well.

And then Gren fell deeply asleep.

#

"I apologize, Chairwoman," Jeff said late his night Earth time, when he tried to rouse Gren during Pern's day and found he was unable to from this distance. "He's sleeping too deeply. I can't rouse him."

"And your other man, Afra Lyon?"

"Currently engaged in a meeting I should not pull him out of—unless you insist," Jeff said, inclining his head to Chairwoman Ironsi.

"No, no," she said. "My mere, unscheduled curiosity isn't enough to be taken_ that_ seriously."

Jeff offered a half-grin. "If you say so, Chairwoman."

"But why is your other man sleeping on the job?"

Jeff found himself reaching back to Gollee Gren, and all he could sense was black, bone-deep exhaustion. "He's clearly done something strenuous today," Jeff said, his eyes slightly unfocused. Then he blinked and looked at the Chairwoman. "I'm sure he found it necessary."

"If you say so, Earth Prime," she said, echoing his earlier words to her. Then she leaned back on the sofa she was sitting on, and said, "The Diplomats are requesting further people to be assigned to Pern, based on the latest packet your Talents sent us. They say the planet is not a single unified whole, and each Hold is its own nation. It's making it difficult to do things properly."

"We _had_ a single source of contact," Jeff Raven said mildly. "Masterharper Robinton."

"They say according to the Lords they've spoken with, that he's not very high status. They say it would be like having the Secretary of Education lead planet-wide diplomatic sessions."

Jeff coughed. "Are they basing things on how the _Lords_ wish power to be doled out, or how it actually is? Because as I understand it, the trinity of Master Robinton, Weyrleader F'lar, and Weyrwoman Lessa have been in power since their 'Ninth Pass' began nearly twenty years ago."

"And all three of those people are Talents," Chairwoman Ironsi said.

"So they are," Jeff said blandly.

"_And_ there's the note from your people that it is reasonable to assume that all dragonriders are Talents."

"Yes, that was the temporary conclusion, pending further data."

"Do you see how this might be a problem?"

Jeff rose abruptly, and paced over to the small bar that graced the private meeting room at Earth Tower they were using. "This is the native order on Pern," Jeff said, pouring a drink for himself and the Chairwoman. "My people are reporting it, but they did not cause it to come into being. You cannot blame the FT&T for that. However form follows function; given how often Talent is utilized to prevent, or clean up after, great tragedy, it is not surprising that a world undergoing continual bombardment from an alien organism utilizes any Talent it can get its hands on. I did not cause this state, however," he said, handing her her drink before taking a good sip of his own.

"I didn't say you had," she said mildly. "That would be others saying so."

Jeff smiled, and did not let his vexation show over the "bloodhound" political group that was trying to gain power in the Nine Star League. Calling, for all things, to make the FT&T a public service, not a private corporation—and to make Earth Prime a political appointment, with voting and a campaign and everything, instead of a measure of Talent.

He didn't particularly care about losing _his_ position. Speaking from a purely selfish perspective, any FT&T in any form, public or private, would need Primes, and if the FT&T was hostilely converted from a private company to a public utility, they'd very quickly learn what they had to do to keep Primes on staff. He and the Rowan had enough funds squirreled away to spend the rest of their lives fooling around on a tropical beach somewhere if they wanted to.

No, it was the rest of the Talents he worried about, the ones that were, these days, numerous enough that there were far fewer positions going to individuals because they were the only ones available of the proper strength to take them.

He did not deny the nature of Talent made nepotism inevitable, particularly in the past when there were fewer Talents overall, but they were getting to a saturation point in some areas that he'd been able to implement reforms to track people on merit in addition to Talent. How ironic that just as he was pushing for these changes from within, these "bloodhound" people were trying to tear the FT&T down from the outside.

Of course, most of this was just smoke. It's when the precogs started rolling in that he'd truly be concerned.

"Well," the Chairwoman said as she saw him keeping his silence, and rose. "Keep me informed on anything that comes up with Pern, Earth Prime I'm no Talent, but I've a funny feeling about it..."

"I will," he promised.

#

When the klaxons at Ruatha hooted an all-clear after threadfall, Robinton threw open the shutters of the room he and Lytol were holed up in, if only so Lytol's unseeing, brooding gaze at least landed on something more pleasing than blank metal.

He wondered if Lytol was always like this when Jaxom and Ruth flew thread over Ruatha, tense and haunted. "I thought you'd decided to move on, anyhow," he said softly to the man as he fastened the shutters open.

Lytol's eyes slowly moved over to meet Robinton's. Then an eerie smile creased his scarred face. "Someday, Harper. Someday." A muscle in his face jumped and twitched.

"I meant," Robinton said quickly. "Move on to something other than Holding, now that Jaxom is Lord. Why are you still here?"

For a moment it seemed that Lytol would not answer, but then he stirred. "He's not ready. Those _diplomats,"_ and here Lytol made a face, then reached for his cup as if to wash a bad taste out of his mouth.

"They seem perfectly amiable folk," Robinton said, coming away from the windows to sit across from Lytol. "Polite, well-spoken."

"So do _you_," Lytol said. "And like _you_, Harper, they have their own agenda behind those smiles. I don't know if Ruatha should align itself with it."

"Good," Robinton said. "Because that's for Lord Jaxom to decide." His words were slightly stern.

"Robinton. You can't say he's truly ready to face someone such as yourself down. The other Lords, perhaps, bickering among themselves; he's had enough turns to learn their ways. But someone like you? If you'd ever had an ounce of conquest in your body, I'd imagine half of Pern would fall."

Robinton's mildly stern expression turned much more serious. "I am no Fax."

"I never said you were." Lytol took a drink from his wineglass. "Which Hold would you start with?"

Irritated at Lytol's question and his mood, Robinton turned away and beckoned Zair to him. The little firelizard reeked of firestone, but was quite happy about himself and his recent "defense" of Ruatha Hold. Robinton dispensed appropriate praises and scratches, and then _ordered_ him to go away and bathe. Zair did so, leaving only the scent of firestone behind. Then, because Lytol was still staring at him fixedly, Robinton said, "Telgar."

Lytol barked out a laugh. "Telgar? Why, I thought you liked them!"

"I do. But Telgar Hold is also the most vulnerable to me if I were ever to turn myself to conquest, for reasons I won't admit to _you_. Followed by Southern. But Lytol, I _hate_ basic administration. As a Hall, my Headwoman does most of it for me and I don't have to deal with lesser Holders or cotholders or farms or any of that. Betraying Telgar would be _such_ a proper pain in my bony, thin behind, with no Healer salve to ease it. I couldn't even appoint any of my Harpers to Steward it because if I did, they'd look at me and tell me to go do _unmentionable_ things to myself."

"That's very cheeky of them. You're their Masterharper."

"We're Harpers, Lytol," Robinton said with a chuckle. "We are cheeky by nature. We're _not_ Holders, or Stewards."

"So you'd never come after Ruatha."

"Are you _insane?"_ Robinton said with as much shock and disdain as he could pack into his lyrical baritone voice—which was plenty. "Jaxom would _not_ sit around and let me take it from him given what I know of him, or if he did for some unfathomable reason, I'd predict Ruatha to promptly be the first Weyrhold, as Lessa returns to claim her birthright. And I'd certainly never be seen again!"

"She likes you well enough, she might let you keep it," Lytol said with an unsettling smile.

"She does like me, I admit, but I would have to be doing unmentionable things to _her_ in truth and not just rumor for her to like me _that_ much!"

This assertion sent Lytol into howling laughter, so even if the conversation had not only bordered on the treasonous but crossed into the outright criminal, Robinton eventually decided it was worth it to see the man emit a genuine belly-laugh, even if full of schadenfreude. He'd seen Lytol mope and brood before, but _today_...oh, it had been painful on all his senses as Lord Jaxom had vanished to fight thread with Ruth, and also a _passenger _ no less, and Lytol's thoughts and feelings turned inwards, probing at the wound that was his lost dragon, and the fact that he never had, and never would, fight thread himself.

Robinton's mind had become _far_ too sensitive to the people around him. The only redeeming factor was that if he walked out of the room and put distance between himself and others, the extraneous, external emotions would eventually fade away. Except, knowing Lytol's pain, he hadn't wanted to leave the man alone.

Shared pain was lessened pain, wasn't it?

No, no it wasn't. He sighed. "Now that you've enough of my skeletons to populate a Hold of revenants—"

Lytol gave him another queer look.

"—I do think that, if you absolutely refuse to be a Mastertalent for us, you _should_ consider some other position."

"I said," Lytol growled, "I am Lord Jaxom's advisor. Those diplomats will eat him alive, mark my words."

Robinton shook his head. Was the man so blinded by the painful existence of Ruth that he truly did not know of Jaxom's role in some events with the Oldtimers in the very recent past? Jaxom was no pushover now; in another turn or two of maturity, particularly with that firebrand Sharra at his side, he'd be doing quite well for himself. "So you consider Jaxom the weakest Lord on the Conclave. Is that what you raised him to be?"

Lytol's face went stony in affront.

The Harper made his voice drip with disgust. "So _terrified_ to interact with him and his dragon that he didn't even grow up to be a proper—"

"Be very careful with what you say, Harper."

As quickly as it'd been assumed, Robinton dropped the facade. "I am _always_ careful with what I say. Wasn't that your point earlier? It's not my fault, Lytol, if _you_ let me needle you. But consider this; if you are so worried about how _he_ will handle these diplomats, what about the other Lords, hmm? Larad, Raid..._Meron_. With every Lord allowed to do what he wishes, which Hold will be the first to make a major mistake? Would it not be wiser to be advisor to _everyone_, and not just Ruatha? Have the diplomats meet with you, and you only?"

"The Lords will never agree to that. They're too greedy, and will think I intend to elevate Ruatha above them all."

"Perhaps not now. Maybe we have to scare them." Robinton steepled his fingers under his chin and tapped it thoughtfully.

"Not a couple of hours ago, you were waxing bright on the sheer numbers of possibilities trading ideas with these star-people would bring. And now you want to have everyone run _scared_ of them? Make up your bloody mind!"

"Lytol, if you had seen through the eyes of Earth Prime and seen the Hold he lives in like I have, you would understand how both those stances can easily co-exist within myself. These people from the stars bring change, opportunity. But there is risk if we reach for the reward, and plenty of it. We're still very in the dark about what they want from us. We're the littlest apprentice at the Gather, bright with promise and talents...and perhaps Talents...but surrounded by Journeymen who might or might not have our best interests at heart. Surely, we don't want to get into a fistfight with them, for we'll be drubbed but _soundly_, but we also want to make sure we are prepared if it happens so that any drubbings that _do_ happen don't kill us."

"And I am your fulcrum with which to achieve this."

Robinton reached out and placed his hand on Lytol's knee. For a second, he _felt_ Lytol; not just the seeping, gaping hole where Larth used to be, but the other layers as well. His fear for Jaxom, his feeling of aimlessness now that he no longer handled the day-to-day of Ruatha Hold. The sense that if he went back to weaving, he'd just be caught up with ghosts of the past, his wife, his children, all long gone. And yet, what Robinton asked of him—first to be Mastertalent of something he did not fully understand, something he feared would wound him deeply, above and beyond what he'd already endured, if he _did_ come to understand it. Or, second, to become almost a Lord above Lords, advisor to all. Heading up a Conclave was one thing, but he was just a _brownrider_...a second-in-command who'd just been a convenient plug in the dam the day when F'lar and Lessa had brought about Fax's downfall and needed a Weyr-friendly ally to fill the gap so that one of Fax's cronies did not (like Meron had at Nabol)...

"You are a brownrider, yes," Robinton said softly. "But you are also more. So much more. You're the only one who has been dragonrider and crafter and lord. You know yourself that you could not be but a simple weaver of battle scenes, now. You know too much, you're too involved. You think your place is at Jaxom's side, but all children leave their parents' sides."

"He is not my son."

"Nor is Sebell mine, not by blood at least. I threw him out of the Hall anyhow, let him find his way. It's time to let Ruatha go, find your next path to venture down."

"Again?" Lytol said wearily.

"Does it help if I say I suspect I'll be sharing much of that path with you?"

"You're still Masterharper."

"Children leave their parents' sides. And sometimes, their parents leave theirs."

Lytol blinked. "Where would you go?"

"I just told you. With you! Or," and Robinton grinned, "Roughly in the same direction." And then he removed his hand from Lytol's knee, breaking their link.

They sat in silence then, for a few long moments, as outside the sounds of groundcrews grew loud as men and women were dispatched to check for any burrows that had gotten past the Weyr.

"So," Lytol said eventually. "How do you plan to scare the Conclave just enough that they'll accept me as their advisor—but not shut down the talks entirely?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

"Sebell!" Master Robinton said as he bustled into his office, where all three of his Journeymen—Sebell, Menolly, and Piemur—were taking lunch.

Sebell jumped up, brushing crumbs from his tunic. "Master! Welcome home. Not to jump on you the very moment you arrive, but I have something I want to talk to you about..."

"What a marvelous coincidence, because I have something I wanted to speak to _you_ about, my good man," Robinton said cheerfully, shrugging out of his hot, sweaty wherhides and tossing them over a chair.

"Oh?" Sebell said. "Is it the same thing I hope to talk to you about?"

"Now, _that_ I don't know," Robinton said. Then he leaned over the table where they'd placed their meal. "Is there anything here that I can steal? Scheming with Lytol is hungry—and, unfortunately, melancholy—work."

Both Menolly and Piemur offered him portions that had not yet been chewed on, and Robinton took some of each with only the slightest pang of guilt. _They_ had time to dash back to the kitchens for more; _he_ did not. Stuffing half a sandwich in his mouth and juggling half a pasty in the other, he bustled back out of his office, gesturing at Sebell to follow.

"How are your studies going?" Robinton asked Sebell around mouthfuls of food.

"As expected," Sebell said. "I'll want to devote a bit more time than planned to my instrument-making however." He looked somewhat embarrassed. "Journeying around the planet with little more than what's in my pockets has made me somewhat slap-dash make-do-with-what-I-have, and I've already had to restart twice. I would not be surprised if I have to restart a third time, even." A self-disgusted grimace crossed his face.

"Ah, well," Robinton said, throwing an arm over Sebell's broad shoulders, then carefully brushing off the crumbs he also dribbled over them. "I'll let you in on a little secret: I did the bare minimum needed to complete the instrument-making portion of my Mastery."

"I don't believe that for a second," Sebell said, laughing. "I've heard the instrument Menolly used, your 'Journeyman' effort."

"But it's true! Don't look at me like that; it is. I actually gave the instrument I _was_ making for my Mastery to the woman who would later be my wife. Believe me, I wanted to impress her _far more_ than any wrinkly old man at that point in my life. And then I scrambled for something to quickly fill the gap for my Mastery."

"You...had a wife?" Sebell said very softly in surprise.

Robinton took his arm away from Sebell's shoulders, but only to steer him into one of the conference rooms and close the door behind them. Then he quickly devoured the last of the food he'd taken from his students, and wiped his hands industriously while shooing Sebell over to take a seat. "I did indeed, when I was about your age," he eventually said, after swallowing the last of his meal. "But not for very long. We were caught in a small skiff in a storm at sea, and both of us fell ill. I recovered. She did not."

"How long were you married?" Sebell asked, dragging out a chair and settling down into it.

Robinton shrugged expansively, as if he didn't really remember. He remembered of course, and always would, but he hadn't actually intended to take a trip down memory lane with Sebell, so he wanted to wrap the tale up. "A month or so. My point is, nobody but Master Jerint will care at all about the quality of the gitar or harp or drum or whatever you make. I mean, it will need to be worthy of a Masterharper, make no mistake, but not of a Master Instrument Maker. So don't fret."

Sebell was keen enough to pick up on Robinton's cues, which Robinton well appreciated, and did not further question the topic of Robinton's long-dead wife. Instead he chuckled and said, "I see. Good enough for a Masterharper. No pressure at all there!"

"So," Robinton said, pulling out another chair from the table and folding his long body into it. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to make a terrible demand upon you."

"And what is that?"

"In addition to you studying full-tilt for your Mastery, I _also_ need you in the field again. For one last assignment."

A slow grin appeared on Sebell's face. "Already missing me?"

Robinton suppressed a smile. "It's a very sensitive...ah...posting."

"Menolly's very capable, these days," Sebell said.

"She's also quite conspicuous, and always will be," Robinton said. He tried to tell himself this was why he hadn't considered her for an instant, because he didn't want to face the truth that he didn't want to put gentle Menolly in danger's way, and then he shoved the whole matter out of mind lest she _hear_ it.

Funny how that worked, now.

"Piemur's not conspicuous."

Robinton felt himself grimace at Sebell's suggestion. "He's not. But he's also not seasoned enough. If I tested him on this one, and he failed, it would ruin him."

Sebell's grin faded. "Well, I mean...he'd go in under an assumed name...and identity..._right?"_

"Not sufficient to protect him in this case," Robinton said very seriously. _"You,_ on the other hand...you have that shield, around your mind. Tell me, at this point how much _direct_ contact have you had with the Talents?"

"This is about Talents?" Sebell said. "I actually—sir, I wanted to talk to you about them, too. But this can come first," he rushed to assure Robinton. "What do you mean by 'direct'?"

"Do they know your face? Your name? I know you have not met them directly while in _my_ presence, but—"

"Master Lyon was here yesterday, and I met him," Sebell said.

Robinton stopped and thought about this, leaning back in his chair and tapping an idle tune against his knee with his fingers. He didn't _like_ that Sebell had met Afra Lyon directly. "I thought Menolly took care of that?" he said, a faint frown of disapproval appearing on his face.

Sebell cleared his throat. "Well, he came to visit about a song. He requested Menolly directly, and...she brought him to your office. Where he could see _who knows what_ of interest to him. Now, I told Menolly not to do that again in the future—"

He had? No wonder Menolly had "reached" for him earlier. She'd been looking for validation. Robinton sighed at Sebell's actions, and shook his head, raising a hand to cut the young man off. "If Afra Lyon visits again—specifically Master Lyon, not Master Gren—you can show him to my office. Or she can. Or Piemur can. Menolly was _not_ in the wrong to do as she did. I am not concerned with _him_ seeing what's there. Besides, I don't keep my most important documents laying out in the open anyhow, and if he wanted into my safe, he could just do it."

Sebell sat back a little, but digested the news gracefully. Then he asked, "Why one but not the other?"

"Master Gren is something of a Harper himself. Although I'm not sure he consciously _knows_ it. I hope to make an ally of him eventually, but for now..." Robinton shrugged. Then he considered the matter of Sebell and Master Lyon again.

_Blast_.

"Tell me what happened between you and Menolly and Master Lyon. I want every detail. Don't leave _anything out_," he said sternly.

"Yes sir," Sebell said, and began to recount the details in his efficient way. Including the part where he feared Menolly was being taken in by an exotic man running a long con, because he was kind to her and treated her as appropriate to her rank when others did not.

Robinton felt dismay when what he thought was a momentary flare of jealousy and teasing between his journeymen seemed to be rooted more deeply in Sebell's heart than he'd realized. Not that he blamed Sebell for loving Menolly—if he himself were but twenty turns younger...oh, no use going there—but he would have hoped that Sebell would have the good sense to keep it confined and out of the way when it infringed upon political matters.

"And did Afra Lyon say anything out of place to her? Make eyes at her?"

"No, sir," Sebell said quietly. "He was polite. Very reserved. I didn't see his eyes go anywhere they shouldn't."

"And what would you do, my Journeyman, if he came to me to ask to court her, and I gave them my blessing?"

Shock flashed across Sebell's face before he could contain it. Shock and horror. And even when he was able to contain it, Kimi made an array of distressing noises and flew to Sebell's shoulder. "Sir, by the love of Ramoth's eggs, _please_ don't sell her off to the star-men!"

And that, _those_ words, enlightened Robinton to the extent of Sebell's hidden prejudices. Hot anger flared through Robinton, making Zair, who had been watching Kimi's antics warily, hiss and mantle his wings.

The Masterharper slowly rose to his feet, and turned away from Sebell, headed towards the meeting room cupboards that always had a skin or two of wine stored within. He chose one without reading the label, and poured himself a glass. He did not pour one for his Journeyman.

Sipping it, letting the soothing vintage coat his mouth and throat in vibrant taste, Robinton paced to the other side of the room to wipe at an inconsequential smudge on the rolling slate that stood at that end, then paced back to stare down at Sebell.

Sebell's emotions were now contained again, and he returned Robinton's gaze with a stoic face. But Kimi, on his shoulder, was still agitated, although he tried to soothe the queen with the caresses of his hand.

"Oh, Sebell," Robinton said eventually, staring into the top of his wineglass. "No matter how much we care for her, her personal affairs are _her own_. And shame on you, for thinking I'd 'sell' her. Or even COULD. None of you Harpers are my _property_."

The Journeyman said nothing.

"_If_ we get an offer to foster with the FT&T, Menolly will be assigned to Earth Tower or wherever, as Journeyman Harper." Robinton smiled slightly. "She'd have the distinction of having the posting furthest away from the Harper Hall! But she's not being _sold_, for goodness' sake. Sebell, she turned down an offer to stand as Candidate for the queen egg hardening on the sands at Fort Weyr. It was her choice."

Sebell's face did not change, and this is how Robinton knew, despite the man's natural shields, that Sebell was still _very_ bothered. It was telling that Sebell could not present a smiling, affable face, and this neutral mien was the best he had for Robinton right now.

Robinton cleared his throat. He _hadn't_ sold her, had he? He remembered trying to be very careful that he did not influence her decision...to the point that his lack of reaction had upset her. He said to Sebell, just to make sure he was very clear on matters, "And I made sure that she knew she should make the decision that benefited her best. So if she leaves Pern, it won't be because she was _sold_ to anyone. And if this infatuation of hers with Master Lyon turns into genuine affection for the man, that is none of _our_ affair. Remember that, Sebell."

"So you think it's an infatuation, too," Sebell said, in a tone like he was commenting on the weather for all that he'd pounced on the term.

Robinton gave Sebell a stern look. "Whatever word we do or don't call it, remember that it feels real to her. You're not naturally a cruel man, Sebell. Don't make jealousy turn you into one. Also remember that when loving someone, as you clearly do, the pain that arises if the love is not returned is _not_ something the other person _does_ to you. The pain of rejection comes from within. Do not blame her if you're feeling rejected."

For the first time, Sebell looked away. Whether because Sebell had, in his head, been blaming her, or because Robinton had addressed matters rather directly, Robinton did not know.

The Harper took another drink of wine, then slouched down in his chair and sighed, and changed the topic back to the one he originally wanted to discuss. Knowing Sebell, he would faithfully mull what he'd been told over, even if he had not liked hearing it. "So Afra Lyon knows your face, your name, and your rank. But not your _mind_. We may still be able to work with that, provided you stay out of Master Gren's line of sight and notice. And don't engage with Master Lyon any further. I need you out of sight and mind."

"For this mysterious posting that Piemur is not experienced enough to undertake?" Sebell said.

The Harper nodded.

"What do you need me to do?"

What _didn't_ he need Sebell to do? He snorted softly to himself and took another drink. "I need _your_ help to convince the Conclave that they should cease utilizing Hold autonomy to negotiate with the diplomats individually, and instead channel such requests through Lytol in order to present a unified front to the Nine Star League."

The young man stared at him. "And you need me to do this _while_ completing the requirements for my Mastery?"

"Yes. Please," Robinton said mildly.

Sebell continued to stare at him, until, finally, he began to laugh, shaking his head ruefully. "Well, because you said, 'please'!"

"There's a good man," Robinton said, an equally sardonic smile appearing on his lips. "I knew I could count on you."

#

_Hey, Tiny_, a familiar voice said in Threnody Gren's head.

Her eyes popped open in surprise. _Dad!_

_I woke you, didn't I?_

_Doesn't matter; it's a weekend_, she said with excitement_. Where are you? What have you been doing?_ His "voice" sounded faint.

_Still in the middle of nowhere where Earth Prime sent me,_ her dad said gently.

_You can't even say what planet?_

_ Can't even say what planet,_ he affirmed_. You know how it is! I'm the G-Man! Secret identity and all, except not, because they know my name and stuff..._

Threnody _thought_ for a second, then said, _You're on Altair._ That seemed the "direction" he was coming from, and the "distance".

Dad chuckled. _You know I cannot confirm or deny your speculation._ And he had a rock-hard shield to boot.

_Or you're in an Altair-ish direction,_ Three pondered.

_Maybe. Maybe not._

_Is Afra with you? Mom said he was._

_Maaayyybe. Or maybe he finally decided to take a vacation somewhere warm and sunny with an ocean._

_Oh, come on Dad!_

_Sorry, Tiny. Them's the rules; no specifics for now. But how's your life?_

_ Top secret!_ Three sent, trying to be severe, but failing to keep her amusement behind shields.

_Good grief, you better not be getting into anything top secret. I remember the crap I got into at your age. Please don't test the strength of my heart like I tested your grandparents'. How's your buddy Cassandra?_

Three's smile vanished. _Not well. It's really rough being a precog, Dad. She doesn't really talk to me much since it came out; she's ACUTELY embarrassed about how she acted with you on the phone._

_ I don't hold it against her; that's how her type of Talent works, sometimes. But when I last talked to her, she didn't seem like she was going to drop on you._

_ Well...she's been talking to the others...just not me. She could have changed her mind, or maybe she was being nice to you since she hates what she's said to you already._

_ Why don't you ask her out somewhere? Didn't she want to see some...fusion-harp-sonata-shit?_

_...what?_

Dad sent her a vision of him flailing for words. _You know. That thing. The music you kids like._

Dad, the perpetual goofball_. Yeah, we went there to see the Celtic revivalists and it was nice, but it wasn't really as good as we thought it'd be. I mean, the glimpses we caught from Cassandra's mind were fabulous. The live stuff we actually saw, not so much. Lots of unnecessary com effects. But I guess you don't get to see the really good live players when you're just a poor student._

_ Poor student? POOR STUDENT?! Now see here, Tiny, you don't poor me no student when I give you a sumptuous allowance of one credit per day! ONE WHOLE CREDIT! Why, where I am, one credit could get you..._

Threnody waited, curious.

_Hey Afra, what could one credit get us here?_

The citrus-mossy feel of Afra bloomed in Three's mind for a moment. _Technically? Nothing. Ask again in a Basic year if you want an update on exchange rates._

_So, Tiny, with one credit you could get a WHOLE BUNCH of nothing here! A whole bunch! What a deal, right?_

_Dad. You're starting to act stupid._

Gollee Gren sighed in his daughter's head. _Yeah, I know. It's been a long day, and it's not even over yet. Fuck me, I'm sore and I don't even have a right to be sore. I just sat around on my butt on a roller-coaster ride from hell and watched things I can't tell you about, and felt my heart ripped to shreds._ He spoke lightly but there was some stress behind the words.

Threnody sent her dad a mental bear hug.

_Awww. Thanks._ He returned it, with a kiss on the temple to boot._ Is your mom up?_

_ It's 3:00 a.m._

_ On a scale of one to ten, how mad will she be if you wake her up for me at 3 a.m.?_

_Well, she's pissed you haven't reached out to contact us this week. So she'll be happy you are doing so now, but mad you didn't before._

Dad sent her a picture of him with great, tear-filled eyes and a pouty, wibbly mouth. _How's my puppy-dog face?_

_Terrible._ She grinned as she said it, though.

_Damn. Fine, into the fires I go. TANYA, my dearest, I'm here to wake you up at the ungodly hour of 3:00 a.m..._

#

Afra Lyon sat on the runner-cropped grass at a discreet distance from the lake in the Fort Weyrbowl, watching dragons bathe and sun themselves after today's threadfall. He kept one ear open to Gren's conversation with his family in case Gren wanted him to chime in again, but privately felt a bit of censure that this was apparently the first time Gollee had reached out to his family since they'd arrived. If _he_ had a wife and child back on Earth he'd be contacting them every day...

But Threnody didn't seem too put out by her dad's long absence, and Afra abruptly withdrew when Gren reached out to Tanya, not wishing to intrude on something that would certainly be intimate.

It had always surprised him that Gollee and Tanya had cemented a relationship. Certainly Tanya was an attractive woman, with brown eyes, hair, and skin, and a strong empathy that had allowed her to mind (and _mind)_ the Callisto nursery crèche for many years, and Gollee had never been shy about inviting attractive women out on dates with him, but it had always surprised Afra that the child-focused Tanya and the work-hard, play-harder Gren had come to a mutual understanding. He'd always thought Gren would end up with one of the women in sales or creative.

Then again, as the old saying went, opposites attract.

Everyone Afra cared most deeply about already knew where he was. Which was to say, the Rowan, Jeff, and several of their children. (Or quite possibly, all; he'd be quite surprised if Jeran hadn't shared the news with Cera months ago, and Damia most certainly shared what she knew with Larak.) He supposed the rest of the Tower crew might be thinking of him from time to time, particularly if Rowan was being difficult on any particular day, but he didn't really have anyone he was so close to that he could reach out to them in the wee hours their time and expect a delighted, instead of irritated, reaction to him awakening them.

The thought made him feel a bit lonely. Or perhaps _more_ than a bit; he had not truly understood what the effect of being the _only_ Capellan on the team would be until he'd actually been subjected to it. He would love to walk right up to some of the weyr's staff and riders he wasn't directly involved in formal talks with and just _chat_, but _they_ knew who he was straight away, and they were so rank-conscious that it would be difficult to enter into a mutually beneficial conversation. He was a Guest. Practically an alien, if Pernese had had a word for aliens. And he couldn't go incognito by wearing the Pernese clothing he'd been given; as he'd seen in the Harper Hall, he still stood out in any company, tunic or no tunic.

He supposed he could do what Jeff and Rowan did when the desired to spend time in public while still retaining anonymity; he could do a broad-scale lean to get people to "forget" or "not notice" his oddness before it registered on their consciousness or in their memory. The problem was that if he was _caught_, there were no precedents set on Pern yet to deal with such things. Before the FT&T had become involved, humans did not practice telepathy on humans. At best, he might be suspected of spying. At worst, they may accuse him of outright mind manipulation with sinister or malign intent. Non-Talents did not always appreciate the distinction between a mild lean and thought-stealing. And the political implications of either being discovered and misinterpreted chilled his bones.

_Why don't you speak to Menolly?_ a familiar voice asked.

_You, Coonie, should be in bed,_ Afra said sternly to Damia, but not without a smile to himself_._

_I am._

_In bed SLEEPING,_ he clarified in the face of her literal reply.

_I will be, which is why I didn't say talk to _me._ But Menolly won't mind chatting with you, if you need an ear._

_And how do you know this?_

_...well, I've been speaking to her._..

_Damia..._

_Better me talking to her than to someone entirely unaffiliated with things, right?_

_ You _could_ try following your father's rules,_ Afra said in amusement.

_Me? Rules?_ Damia gave him her most innocent "face".

_I admit your track record for obeying is erratic...as for speaking with Menolly, I'm afraid her Master would take any conversation we could have as political, so like all my other conversations here, it would be a very careful one._ Sebell crossed his mind as he thought of this, but he shielded those thoughts away.

_Are you sure? Master Robinton doesn't seem THAT set in his ways to me at all. He has a wonderful mind; if he ever sets foot off of Pern, imma set him up on a date with grandmother. He would charm her pants right off! Or maybe the reverse. She can be pretty blunt with making her thoughts known._ And she let him "hear" a whiff of cheesy "sexytime" music.

_Damia!_

The young woman "sent" him a mischievous grin. _What, Afra?_ she said at her most innocent.

_Last thing we need is your grandmother's long ear drawn here,_ he said. Isthia Raven was very prone to being summoned at mention of her name.

_You're not going to help me bag the Masterharper of Pern as my step-grandpa?_

He felt himself smiling at her audacity. Master Robinton seemed quite a resilient man, but he wasn't so sure the Harper would hold up if Isthia Raven set her sights on him, particularly if Damia Gwyn-Raven was acting as her wingwoman. _It is late. Go dream, Damia. Perhaps when you wake up you won't be suffering the effects of sleep deprivation!_

_ Yeah, but YOU'LL still be suffering the effects of being lonely. Talk to Menolly. She kind of has a crush on you, but she knows it's silly so having a real talk with you should get her over it quick, and Afra, she's a _very_ strong telepath. _Her tone became unusually serious. _She's almost always in gestalt or mind-merge with at least one firelizard; I don't know how she walks in a straight line with half her mind flying about on wings. You _need_ to talk to her. I've held my promise not to teach Talent for now, but she's making me nervous._

Afra had not detected anything that would alarm him unduly so far when speaking to the young woman, but Damia, while wild in many ways, was _not_ prone to over-reacting when it came to Talent, and if she'd somehow already formed a bond of friendship with the Harper woman, she may well know more than Afra. _I will check it out,_ he promised.

_Thanks, Af'a,_ she said, then vanished.

Damia's shortening of his name brought his attention to the dragonriders again, and he watched them until it was time for the evening meal.

#

"You're smiling," D'red said.

C'cel blinked up from his meal to look at the bluerider. "And?"

"...and nothing, I suppose. I was just making a note of it. You've been out of sorts since this whole thing began. But now you're not. Unless...I've just been an idiot and commented on it when maybe I shouldn't have—" and D'red made an irritated face at himself.

However, C'cel didn't seem put out by D'red speaking the obvious, and bit deeply into his roll. Through his chewing, he said, "Aloth is happier. She likes Master Lyon. And we'll get to meet the face."

"Come again?"

C'cel waved his tooth-marked roll around. "Meet the face. Meet the person we thought we flamed up with thread."

"Oh. I thought...aren't we already...?"

The greenrider shook his head. "They have rank and the like too, and sent people different from the one we met. The one Aloth and I felt has his own important duties as 'Deneb Prime' I'm told, but we can schedule a time to meet when he does not have his duty to perform, and I do not have mine."

"So he will come here?" D'red prodded, taking a seat next to C'cel, and quickly loading his plate with the foodstuffs arrayed at the table.

"No, Master Lyon will take me to him with his mind."

"Just you?" D'red said wistfully.

C'cel stopped eating for a moment, catching on that D'red wanted the experience too, but instead of offering to see if D'red could come, he looked away.

"Nevermind," D'red said. "You and Aloth were the first of all of us to know of them, even if common rumor says it was the Weyrleaders or the Masterharper. But if you want someone to hash over your thoughts with afterwards," and D'red grinned. "We're here."

"The nosiest blue pair on the planet," C'cel said, although it was more wry than irritated. "As nosy as Harpers, you two are."

"Hey, I used to be a Harper before I was Searched. Just an apprentice, but still-"

"I know," C'cel said with a grin. "It shows!"

#

"Those 'scientists'," Lessa said to F'lar. "They've been asking to visit other Weyrs. And to 'photograph' the dragons."

"There's no reason for them to visit other Weyrs," F'lar said. "You didn't tell them they could? Having the Talents running around everywhere—and to have men who can vanish _between_ themselves is disconcerting enough—is one thing, and I suppose necessary if we continue to learn from them, but we don't need the rest of them doing it too."

Lessa gave him a _look_. "No, of course not. What concerns me is that they asked to take photographs—but only to cover that they'd already been doing so."

"Photographs—those are those very precise paintings, done by their machines."

"Like we saw in the books they gave us. Yes."

F'lar rubbed a thumb on his jaw, displeased. "Why would they want photographs of Fort's dragons?"

"To study. But also to show their people. They already," and here Lessa paused to emphasize her displeasure. "—have 'photos' of everyone in the Conclave. To show _their_ Conclave back home. While we, clearly, do not have the same benefit."

F'lar's expression slowly became darker and darker, until suddenly a thought occurred to him and he brightened. "Well, you can reach to Earth, can you not?"

"I can," Lessa affirmed.

"Then," and F'lar leaned forward with growing excitement. "_You_ take 'photos' of _their_ conclave."

"Why does this idea fill you with such glee?" she asked suspiciously.

"Coordinates."

Her eyes widened. "You're not thinking of going _between_ to Earth, are you? F'lar," she said. "F'nor's trip to the Red Star was unusually long. Multiply that by however far away Earth is, and the rider you send will _die_ in the attempt. We can only hold our breath so long!"

"Ah, but you're forgetting, my fiery one. A Talent's _between_ is not our _between_. And Master Lyon says between F'nor and I, we should have considerable strength. We'll soon have both at our disposal."

Lessa ground her teeth. "He said _should_. But you're not expressing it. Do you intend to send a firelizard egg to the Nine Star League, or something, some_one_ of substance?"

"I need to walk before I can run," F'lar said with phlegmatic patience. "You'll see, we'll unlock my Talent just as yours has been—"

"—mine already was!"

He held up a hand. "So it was. But we'll unlock mine too. But first you take your 'photographs'—"

Lessa shook her head. "But how?"

"Ask for one of their machines as a gift. Or ask Fanderal to procure one. I'm sure he's eager to already. We've seen the devices in all their hands, wielded as casually as belt knives with as little concern for the loss of one, and Master Lyon hardly flinched when his EEG failed on him, no matter how _ghastly_ that sound it made was to us, so clearly they have to be somewhat common. He does not seem a man to treat his tools poorly if they are of great worth."

"But...how? I don't have this...telekinesis."

F'lar blinked. "...you don't? Why, Master Lyon said you were near-Prime in strength—"

"As a _telepath_. As is Brekke. But I can't..." and she waved her hand at the table where, even now, marks of small denomination were scattered around from F'lar's exercises. "If I could—" and here she bit down on the words she had been about to say. If she could-_I would have squeezed Fax's heart still in his chest and nobody would have been the wiser!_

But she didn't say it, and when she thought it, it was deeply behind shields.

"...perhaps you'll learn," F'lar suggested after a moment.

"I hope so," Lessa said, doubtfully. Then she said, "But you're right. I'll ask for one of their machines as a boon." But should it be in repayment for them lying and only asking for permission after they'd already begun, or should she keep that she knew that to herself? This, she pondered on.

"Or I could ask for one," F'lar said, an impish smile appearing on his face. "As a gift for my mate who would love to see clearly how beautiful she is."

"You would get one by saying I want to _preen_ in it?!" she exclaimed.

He began to laugh, and held up his hands in defense. "Just a suggestion. But if you don't think you're beautiful—"

Deciding she was quite done with scheming for now, Lessa pelted him with a few of the marks sitting on the table in retribution, before realizing that throwing marks about reflected as poorly on her as preening for a 'camera' would. Then F'lar took advantage of the fact that she was stooped over retrieving them to capture her and drag her off to the bedroom to demonstrate how worthy of preening for a camera _he_ thought she was.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

The second time Afra Lyon came to the Harper Hall, he was expected, and reached out to request the Masterharper's permission prior to 'porting.

The old man had better shields now, better than all he'd seen except Brekke and Lessa at Benden Weyr. On several levels, that comforted Afra, for he had felt the Harper's pain at being so wide-open to the minds around him. He couldn't help but think of Gollee's suspicions, and hope he wouldn't be putting any feet wrong now that he couldn't hear the musical flow of surface thoughts across the man's mind.

_Is now a good time for me to visit?_ Afra sent gently to the man in order not to startle him.

Given Robinton's mind _was_ shielded, there was no permission given back in words, or even readable from surface thoughts, but a moment later Afra felt the assent projected by Robinton's empathy.

So again, Afra 'ported to an unused corridor in the Harper Hall, then sent visual coordinates to the Harper so the man could find him. A few seconds later, a bronze firelizard found him, and flew over his head in circles, chattering. Afra caught glimpses of a corridor that seemed to be "up" but not "outside" to the little beast, and Robinton, and Menolly.

Remembering Damia's suggestions, he reached out to Menolly too. _Good morning, Journeywoman._

Menolly had shields too, but perhaps due to all the firelizards she had, or her own nature, was not as prone to using them immediately. He felt her sudden surprise at the direct contact, then pleasure, then embarrassment over her own reaction. Still naive to how much he had picked up, she tried to cover it by saying, _Good morning, Master Talent. The Masterharper is coming right down for you._

_I know,_ Afra said. _Will you be in this meeting as well?_

_I will be around to assist if you need me,_ Menolly said, and Afra had the impression of her fetching things for him and her Master as needed, such as food and ink, but not of her being directly an individual of note within the meeting.

She had an odd demureness that was almost...Capellan...and yet, he also sensed the bright mind beneath it. She was not demure because her Master demanded it, he realized. It was a result of...something else.

Her childhood?

Which wasn't his to pry into, but he filed the thoughts away.

A few more moments, and Zair above him was joined by two other bronzes, and then Master Robinton poked his head around a corner. "This is an interesting out-of-the-way spot you've chosen, Master Lyon," the Harper said to him as he approached, flashing Afra a smile in lieu of offering a handshake.

Afra inclined his head. "I realize your courtyard outside is traditionally used for teleportation, but I'm not sure your people are used to _men_ doing so under their own power yet. I didn't wish to cause panic by teleporting into a populated area, or offend by teleporting into a private one."

"Ah," Robinton said, and looked over his shoulder from where he'd just come, and where Menolly was now standing. "Yet, we'll still need to introduce them to it," he said to Menolly, who nodded in agreement. Robinton turned back to Afra. "How are such things handled in the FT&T?"

Afra hadn't expected Master Robinton to be so direct in asking his advice, but he gave it. "I wouldn't say we exactly introduce large populations to it directly. They know it exists, of course, but It's considered unexpected or rude to do it in front of others, depending on the context."

"Really?" Robinton said. "How so? You don't treat it as natural among your kind?"

_Our kind,_ Afra thought to himself with amusement, but didn't project the correction as it might unsettle the Harper. "Only a portion of Talents can teleport. Doing so when not necessary is about as unexpected and alarming as seeing a person jumping up and running at top speed to get somewhere. It's usually a sign that something has gone wrong."

Robinton looked back at Menolly. "Do you think _that_ explanation will work?" he said with a wryness in his voice that spoke of some sort of in-joke.

"They don't care at all about rudeness, unless it's a firelizard type of rudeness," Menolly said with a laugh. "In which case they scream at each other until it's sorted to some queen's satisfaction."

"Hm," Robinton said, turning back to Afra. "If you can find a way to teach our firelizards that going _between_ suddenly—or coming out of it without warning—is rude, we'd be most in your debt."

As he said that, the firelizards swirling above them made several sounds, and vanished. The only firelizard in the hallway then was Beauty, perched on Menolly's shoulder.

"Do you consider firelizards more or less independent than cats?" Afra asked.

"Katz?" Robinton asked, his shields clearly too solid to have picked up Afra's meaning.

Afra knew that cats existed on Pern. He had seen several little moggies helping themselves to the remains of dragon kills in the Weyr. He projected an image to them of one of those little tabby cats.

"Felines," Robinton said, comprehending.

_"Felis catus,"_ Afra said. "So you use the scientific name—or a part of it—over a common name?" He'd heard similar changes in the language with bovine and ovine mentioned by Pernese as commonly as by any of the scientists.

The Masterharper hesitated. "'Feline' is the name commonly used," he hedged, curiosity shining in his blue eyes. "However, I have noticed your people using very old variations for some words." Then he chuckled. "So much to learn, but limited time in which to do so. Come upstairs with me, and perhaps we can begin to put a dent in it. Menolly, will you bring some refreshments?"

The young woman nodded, and quickly left to do so.

"Will she be joining us for training?" Afra asked the Masterharper once she was out of earshot. "I realize she does not share your rank, Masterharper, but she has a very strong mind."

Robinton nodded. "I would ask that she be trained, if you were willing, regardless of her rank," he said.

Afra felt relief. He had hoped this would be the case, but Menolly's own self-perception as an honored aide and not one of the focuses of this training session had worried him briefly. Then he realized they'd gone somewhat off track due to the linguistic hurdle. As he followed the Masterharper out of the quiet corridor into a busier one, he ignored the looks they got and said, "I've found that cats—felines—are not very amiable to being trained to do anything in particular. As firelizards are a fair amount smarter than cats—"

"How do you know?" Robinton asked.

He almost told the Masterharper he knew from his own experience, but then realized he might actually be able to _show_ Robinton. "Do you have any cats in the Harper Hall, so that I can show you?" Then he shook his head. "Excuse me, felines."

"I understood," Robinton said with a chuckle. "I suppose I do, but they tend to hunt around the storerooms, in places a firelizard is too ungainly to access. Come this way. I suppose I shouldn't have sent Menolly to the kitchens after all, since we're headed there, but oh well..."

So a few minutes later Afra found himself in the Harper Hall kitchens, with aproned women gaping at them in turns while Robinton paced around the room looking under tables and in corners, while making a soft clicking sound with his mouth.

A moment later, a woman with very pale skin and very dark hair confronted the Masterharper for his odd behavior. "Menolly was just here, Robinton, if you're looking for food! She said you sent her yourself! And, good morning Master Lyon," the woman added as a courteous afterthought, as if foreign men from the stars were common visitors to the Harper Hall kitchens.

"Good morning, Headwoman Silvina," Afra said gravely.

Robinton paused from looking behind a tapestry, and raised an eyebrow at the headwoman. "I _should_ hope if I come to the kitchens and start looking behind _hangings_ for food you'd be quick about summoning a council of Masters to replace me!" he chided in one part amusement, one part fond exasperation for a friend who clearly knew him well. "That little feline that just had her kittens; where is she, Silvina?"

"Not in the middle of my busy kitchen where the little ones might get trampled on!" Silvina said, indignant.

The Harper waited patiently.

She made a sound. "If you _must_ know—"

"—oh, I _must_," Robinton said with a smile.

"—I relocated them to my quarters."

Robinton paused for a long moment, then slowly smiled at her again.

"Not a word from you," Silvina said sternly, waggling a finger at the Masterharper.

"I've said nothing at all," Robinton assured her, twitching the tapestry back in place, and brushing flour dust from the arm of his tunic, where he'd accidentally brushed up against a stone table where bread was being prepared.

"Why do you want her? She's still suckling them. They're not old enough to be given away."

Raising his eyebrows, Robinton said, "I hadn't actually considered—" He looked at Afra. "Do you want a kitten, Master Lyon?"

Afra wondered if giving people pets was a common thing on Pern, and smiled, but shook his head. "I'm afraid I have enough felines at home," Afra said. "If I add another, people might say I take my family name a bit too seriously."

Robinton cocked his head.

"A 'lion' is a type of very large feline. Spelled differently, but the homophone is there."

"You'll have to show me a 'lion' at some point," Robinton said. Then: "We'd still like to see her," Robinton told the headwoman.

Afra could clearly feel her confusion with their sudden interest in kittens, but she chalked it up to Robinton being his usual old self—although typically she could figure out what he was up to. But she supposed today wouldn't be the first time she'd had to wait until achieving intellectual satisfaction. But surely, she'd grill the man good when she got a chance!

"Very well," is what Silvina actually said. "Follow me."

As Afra followed them out of the kitchen with nearly a dozen pairs of curious eyes and thoughts on them, he became aware that Robinton and Silvina had once been a couple. Once, but no more, and not for a very long time. Silvina still thought of Robinton using images of him as a young man, however, dark-haired, thin, and gangly.

"Now," Silvina said, opening the door to her quarters once they arrived. "Let's see how she's doing..."

Afra resigned himself to politely wait outside, but a second after the two went in, they both poked their heads out again.

"Do you not wish to see what you came here to see?" Silvina asked him.

"I beg pardon," Afra said. "You said these were your personal quarters—I didn't wish to intrude."

"I don't think I hold any secrets a Nine Star League man should not see in my quarters," Silvina said in amusement. "I am not nearly young enough. Or conversely, I am too old to care. Please, come in."

When Afra accepted the invitation into the windowless front room of Silvina's personal quarters, which looked very much like the guest rooms he had in Fort, except with a far warmer personal touch, he saw immediately the mother cat and her offspring settled in a wicker basket stuffed full of rags. He touched her mind slightly, in preparation to soothe her maternal worries at the sudden influx of strangers—

—but to his surprise, she stirred at his light mental touch and opened slit blue eyes. Then, ignoring the shrill cries of her kittens, she rose, fluidly arched her back in a stretch, and stepped over her squirming offspring to cross the room and investigate Afra.

Pernese cats were small and delicately built, and spotted in a peculiar pattern Afra hadn't seen before, more akin to a true leopard's spots than anything he'd ever seen on a domestic cat. And, even more peculiarly, this one had not the slitted eyes of a domestic cat, but the round pupils of a great cat, despite her tiny size. He automatically squatted down as she came near him, her belly still sagging from her recent births but tail held high, and she rose up to put two small paws on his knee, before sniffing his mouth.

He touched her mind again, and as he often did when meeting a new cat, sent one thing:

_Mmrow?_

_Mrow!_ she sent back, reinforcing it with a high vocalization.

Afra rocked back on his heels in surprise, then tilted back onto his behind and the palm of one hand as the mother cat jumped into his lap as an attempt to search him for any food offerings. Automatically, he sent a denial, he had not come with food, and immediately felt her miff, much stronger than it should be, as she jumped back off of him and made a beeline for the other two humans, wavering for a second in indecision on whether to visit Silvina or Robinton next.

He gaped after her for a second, and then found himself laughing.

The Masterharper fished a bit of sausage from his pockets and fed it to her, while giving Afra an interested, but also bewildered look. Silvina just regarded Afra as if he'd lost his marbles, her arms crossed over her chest. The cat ate the sausage from the Masterharper's fingers with a cockeyed ear that told him she didn't much appreciate the laughing sounds the green-skinned monkey was making around her or her kittens.

Afra put a fist to his mouth as an attempt to stifle his laughter—but really, it was just too much.

Because even the Pernese _cats_ were Talented!

"I'm sorry," he tried to apologize to the Masterharper.

"No, no," Robinton said airily. "I'm glad you _can_ laugh." His own smile was a bit sardonic for an instant, and Afra knew Robinton was glad to see Afra do something a bit "humanizing". "But if you could _share_ your source of mirth..."

"I'm not laughing at you," Afra hasted to assure him raising a hand to placate the Masterharper if needed.

"I'm sure you're not."

"_Either_ of you," Afra said, including the headwoman. "It's just..." It was just...the _cats_. The _dragons_, and the _firelizards_, and the _cats_. Oh, and of course, the _humans_!

With effort, Afra firmly mastered himself, closing his eyes for a moment and taking a calming breath. When this effect had been achieved, he opened his eyes again, and looked up at the Masterharper. "Your cats are telepaths," he said, gravely.

Robinton blinked. "...you're telling me, the _felines_ are mind-readers?"

"She is," Afra said, pointing his finger at the one he'd "spoken" to. "I've not bothered her kittens yet to see if her Talent was passed on." Rubbing a hand over his face, Afra got a knee under him, then rose back to his feet. Then he brushed his pants off with both hands. "I apologize, Masterharper...it was just _very_ unexpected."

"So that's not what you wished to demonstrate to me."

"No."

"So it's safe to say that _your_ felines—cats—are not telepaths?" The thin man cocked his silvering head.

"That is accurate. In all my life, before now, only one cat has actually responded to me, and that was not a powered send."

"Am I the only one here who's _not_ surprised?" Silvina asked, looking between the two men.

"And in that, headwoman, you are wiser than the both of us," Robinton said with a smile. "But, Master Lyon—what _did_ you wish to show me?"

"Can you hear her?" Afra asked quickly, nodding at the feline who was now marking Silvina as her property with several headbutts.

"Hear—oh, her thoughts? Does she _have_ thoughts? I suppose if you say she's telepathic, she does. But I can't say that I can," Robinton said.

Afra stooped over, and waggled his fingers to get the feline's attention.

She cocked one ear to the side, dubiously. She still remembered his recent chortling, and lack of treats.

So he did a gentle lean on her, to soothe her fears, and then she returned to politely sniff his fingers, since he _insisted_. Then he picked her up, supporting her hind feet with one hand while his other cradled her chest, and came to stand next to Robinton.

"Can you hear her?" Afra repeated.

"I...don't know how to," the man admitted, although his long-fingered hand came up to automatically scratch about her ears.

"May I show you how?" Afra asked.

Blue eyes met yellow. "You may," Robinton said.

So Afra gently reached out, and "knocked" on Robinton's shields. After a moment, and a line appearing on the man's brow, they slowly came down a bit. Afra slipped in, the lightest merging of public minds—he also felt Zair there, although this did not surprise him, Gren had relayed dragons could get past shields so likely firelizards could as well—and _showed_ Robinton how to reach out to the feline and taste her simple thoughts and drives.

_Oh!_ Robinton sent as he experienced the cat's mind, and Afra realized that the man _was_ a sending telepath, just a very weak one. They had to be standing this close for Afra to receive it, and with someone not as sensitive as Afra, likely it would be heard only if reinforced by a touch.

_She's less complex than a firelizard,_ Afra sent.

Robinton nodded in agreement.

_And yet, very independent_, Afra thought_. I expect we'd have much difficulties truly _training_ a firelizard the way you might a dog._

_Canine?_

_Yes. Canis lupis familiaris._

A memory from Robinton: old Healer records, near-gibberish...but with words similar to the ones Afra used now.

Afra was curious, but did not press the memory. Robinton might not even realize he'd relayed it.

Eventually Afra put the cat down, and she returned to her basket nest, and began to wash her kittens as they scrambled up against her side to nurse. Robinton stared at her, and Afra knew he was still linked to the cat's mind, _feeling_ the experience of being a mother cat with kittens to feed.

The Masterharper was quite awed and humbled. "Never having given birth myself," Robinton murmured.

Silvina hiked an eyebrow high. "To kittens? I beg to differ!"

And her wry observation broke Robinton's focus on the feline and he made a mock-severe face at her before laughing himself. Then he turned to Afra. "I didn't think to try. Does she mind?"

"_Did_ she mind?" Afra countered. "Animals are not people, and don't hide their thoughts. If they mind, you will know."

"Hmm. You're probably right there. Dragons, firelizards, whers...and now felines."

"Whers?" Afra asked. "What's a wher? Is it this?" And he sent an image of one of the wherries, large, six-limbed ostrich-like things with stringy feathers, which the dragons had eagerly hunted down and eaten at Fort and Benden Weyrs.

"No, no," Robinton said, shaking his head. Then he imagined a creature, lurking in dark caverns or chained out as sentries at night, heavily muscled and highly aggressive, sometimes man-eating if provoked, like twisted, angry mutated dragons shrunken down to the size of herdbeasts. And then a memory, of Robinton as a boy, pulling other boys off of a small chained one they were tormenting as it _shrieked_ in pain in Robinton's head. Then, Robinton's rage as he couldn't fathom _why_ the other children at the time hadn't understood just how much pain they caused—but only Robinton had heard it, screaming, _screaming_ in his head. Not even F'lon had, and F'lon had become a bronzerider.

And now Robinton knew _why_ he had heard things others hadn't. This _Talent_ thing.

Afra sucked in a breath at the memory. Dragons, firelizards, and cats. And now—these whers. (Was this a bastardized version of the word "wyvern"?) How many more creatures on Pern had telepathy? "I would like to see a wher," Afra said.

Robinton cleared his throat. "The Harper Hall does not have one, nor the Healer Hall." A thought, still visible as Robinton's shields were thinned: Robinton had never allowed it. He _knew_ the nature of apprentices, and he'd known inevitably any wher stationed here would be tormented as the inevitable opportunistic bullies that made it past his gaze to become apprentices, and then tried to target the chained creature for their cruelty, and he didn't want to be the Masterharper who put the well-being of a _wher_ above the well-being of a _child_.

Because he _would_, if it turned out the child was hurting the wher and the wher, confused and scared, was only defending itself when it lashed out.

(Just like he had little pity for the fools that had once—only once, he'd made sure of that—tormented gentle Camo so much that even he had lashed out with a blunt fist.)

The consequences of such actions would be severe though, no matter how sure that Robinton knew he was right, or even that he was Masterharper. So he had never tempted fate by having whers in the Hall.

Fort Hold, however, did have whers, bonded to the scent and blood of Lord Groghe and his blood kin. As did many other Holds. But Robinton couldn't bear to have them closer than that.

Afra sent his understanding and assent, but mentally added whers to all the mysteries of Pern he wished to investigate...although from Robinton's thoughts, it might be one of the darker ones.

"Silvina," Robinton said a moment later after Afra had withdrawn from their light merge, and Robinton had raised his shields once more. "Thank you for enduring us."

"You're both welcome. It's not every day I learn even our felines can read thoughts!" she said with a chuckle. "Although it explains many things I've seen through the turns..."

Silvina then led them out of her quarters once it was clear that they were through, but didn't let them leave the kitchen without handing Robinton another pot of klah, for the one Menolly had had would probably be going cold by now. Robinton took it cheerfully, then motioned for Afra to follow.

"Without having a firelizard myself," Afra said to the Masterharper as they walked. "It seems that firelizards are _more_ intelligent than the cat you just touched. This is why I think it may be difficult to truly _train_ them. Intelligent creatures get bored more quickly. But I don't have one myself, so I can't say if my opinion is entirely accurate-"

Robinton paused, glanced at him, paused again, then said, tentatively, "Would you like one, Master Lyon?"

"I wasn't trying to imply—" Afra said quickly, raising a hand...partly because he _hadn't_, and partly because he felt a bit of guilt that he hadn't even had to make a real attempt to get an offer like Gren's. Jeff would be pleased, to say the least.

"I understand. But it seems to me, of all the different sorts of people who have Impressed firelizards, one such as you would be a prime candidate. And," Robinton said, projecting a soothing touch so adroitly that Afra almost didn't realize it had happened for he hadn't expected such a controlled use of Talent from the man just yet, "—you might do well with a Pernese companion you _know_ is on your side and won't care about how you look or the color of your skin."

Afra blinked at him, but the Masterharper had already turned away to open the door to his office.

Whether he had used empathy or good old-fashioned knowledge of human nature, Robinton was certainly adept at knowing things.

...or perhaps what Damia had known, Menolly had also known. And thus her Master.

In any event, it was good he was here. Even if...Damia had _meddled_.

"Do you know yet when Beauty is to rise?" Robinton said as he felt the sides of the pot of klah Menolly had placed on the table in front of the couches in the corner. "Not cold yet. I guess we'll have plenty to fortify us with. Come, let's sit, Master Lyon," and Robinton indicated the seating around him with a gesture.

"I believe it will be soon," Menolly said, and poured them cups of klah.

Afra took a seat to one side.

"We'll let you know when she's expecting," Robinton said as the leather couch creaked under him, and Afra could feel his amusement.

Menolly's eyes moved briefly to her Master, but he couldn't hear her thoughts in that instant. Afra wondered why the young woman had shielded then, but not earlier. He did not probe.

_Master Robinton won't know when Beauty rises unless Zair catches her,_ a certain eavesdropper whispered.

To prevent himself from reacting or having to speak, Afra politely picked up his cup of klah and sipped, the cinnamon-coffee-tea-rooibos taste suffusing his tongue. _Damia._

_Well, you wanted to know why Menolly's giving him looks. That's why. He's not being entirely accurate with "we"._

_Because your father has never said "we" when he meant someone who reports to him, because Rowan has never said "we" when she meant me,_ Afra said. _I think you're reading too much into his word choice—unless you sensed something I did not?_

A pause. _Well, it's basic firelizard biology...but no, I didn't sense anything. It's a factual error._ He could feel her crossness with it, but also a bit of pride that she had been able to catch such a subtlety and relay it to him.

Damia knew far, far more than he'd realized if she was so confident about "firelizard biology" when he was just starting to explore such areas of knowledge himself. _We'll talk later._

The young woman caught his entire meaning: the talk would not be optional.

_Night, Afra,_ she sent, subdued.

_ Good night, Damia. Sleep well._

But a second later, Afra caught Menolly's eyes flicking to him briefly. He said, "Does she always reach out to you?"

"What do you mean?" Menolly said, and Afra could _feel_ her stepping into character. With his eyes he saw a wide-eyed guileless woman, but while he couldn't sense her public mind behind her shields, he was still receiving other impressions from her that reinforced the sense that she was playing a familiar role, the innocent to Robinton's schemer.

Gollee would undoubtedly have become irate at such a thing; Afra was more amused—and intrigued, for his eyes were being well-fooled and it wasn't her fault he was a more experienced telepath.

"It's hardly fair for you to have an invisible friend popping up at your elbow at odd times without being able to return the favor," Afra said. And while his face was impassive, he briefly projected the idea of Menolly pranking _Damia_.

Her eyes widened for an instant, then she smirked the tiniest bit before looking away.

Robinton cocked his head to the side. "Menolly?"

"It's Earth Prime's daughter again," she said.

"What did she want?"

"I don't know," Menolly said. "She just appears in my head and says things and leaves."

"What did she say?" the Harper asked.

Menolly turned red.

Afra decided to take a chance, and turned towards the Masterharper. "I don't know what she said to the Journeywoman, but she was being pedantic with me over details of firelizard reproduction."

The Harper blinked.

"But I apologize for carrying on two conversations at once," Afra said, bowing her head. "That was rude of me. I've reminded her it's after midnight where she's at, and will speak with her later about interrupting your Journeywoman."

There was no direct reaction from Menolly, but Beauty became agitated. Menolly turned to the golden queen firelizard and soothed her.

Robinton hesitated. "Does it bother you, Menolly?" he asked.

Menolly immediately jumped on the opening to make her feelings known. "No, I don't mind at all, sir. I like her."

Afra chose his words slowly. "I'm afraid if our Diplomatic team were to know she is reaching out to you, there might be consequences. Not for you, Miss Menolly—for her, _if_ Earth Prime becomes aware."

Disappointment, swiftly stifled, along with worry, but Menolly made no direct protest. Instead she bowed her head.

Robinton said, "We would not want her to get in trouble." His tone was amiable enough, but his eyes watchful.

"If I may be direct, Masterharper—"

"By all means, please, Master Lyon."

"I am surprised at how swiftly your Talent, and your Journeywoman's have progressed. Particularly when contrasted with the Weyrs."

Both of them regarded him with intense, and startled, interest.

"I do not know if this is due to repeated exposure to prime-level minds—Earth Prime first of all, particularly with you, Masterharper, and then, unofficially, Damia's—or due to other things, but the reason I requested a meeting is because I would like to offer in-depth training to you two, and any others in this area, particularly as you are not being included in the training at the Weyrs."

"I've much appreciated what you've already shown me before," Master Robinton said. "But to return directness with directness, what would you want from us in return?"

"Offering training already benefits the FT&T," Afra said. "The FT&T fulfills a vital need for fast transportation and communication between planets, but it also fulfills a need for its Talents, by providing a safe haven for those who are Talented, who have not, historically, always been treated well by those without our abilities. However, the FT&T can only provide a haven for Talents if it is made clear to the rest of the inhabited galaxy that Talents will not use their abilities unwisely, or if they do, they will quickly be brought to justice by their own. There are many, many non-Talents. Most of humankind is not Talented. And there are only a few of us, in comparison to the rest of humanity. It is vital that we hold ourselves to a high standard. But people are people, and in ignorance can do things non-Talents would perceive as malignant, even if there was no malign intent. And, to repeat myself, people _are_ people and some _do_ misuse their abilities. A telekinetic 'lifts' expensive clothing or jewelry for themselves without paying for it, thinking they are invulnerable to the consequences of theft because their actions aren't seen by anyone's eyes or by a camera. We have an aggressive training program to combat mistakes and harms done through ignorance, as well as by individuals who might otherwise take advantage of those who do not share their Talents."

Afra paused, and took another drink of klah. Then he said, "And we are very interested in learning more about Talent. Firelizards and dragons and, now, your unique cats, are the first non-human species we've encountered with Talent. So we want to protect our existing reputation, and learn about these new species."

"So Damia was fulfilling your directive to learn about firelizards?" Menolly said, and he felt her slip into character again—this time to hide a potential hurt to her heart.

Afra blinked, realizing how he must have just cast Damia—and he knew it was not true. Jeff would _not_ ask his daughter to spy; he was quite particular about not having his children obliged to the FT&T until they were officially on payroll. "No. Damia just loves animals and gets into mischief." And he projected at them an image of his quarters at Callisto, and Damia as a toddler, making off with his pet Coonie Ringle. He layered the scene with enough "knowledge" that Damia raiding his home for pets despite all the ones in her own home had been incredibly common, and sent a few other images of young Damia at various ages surrounded by animals to reinforce things.

Then he raised a finger to his lips, to bid them to secrecy on the "toddler" images, for a young woman might be wroth that he'd shared those with them, and smiled before smoothing his face back into neutrality.

Both Harpers grinned back at him, Robinton chuckling with genuine fondness for the antics of small children in general, and Menolly relieved Damia wasn't pulling one over on her.

"So," Robinton said clapping his hands together, apparently any earlier worries he'd had soothed. "When do we begin these lessons?"

"Now?" Afra suggested.

"Fantastic. Do we need anything to begin?"

And from there, Afra launched into a repeat of the initial lessons he'd taught the Weyrs—minus the EEG, for he did not yet want to break another one if Menolly and her firelizards had the same effect that Ramoth did.

It was a pleasure to work with the two Harpers. As he ran them through various card games, and other stimulus and tricks to put any and all Talents on display, he mused that the reasons for his pleasure seemed to be threefold.

One, while the firelizards were a curious and ever-present factor, he did not have the sense that they were carefully watching him, as the dragons had. Their minds were a bit off-note, operating on that "different" frequency the dragons used, but had none of the focus, or for want of a better word, "mass" of dragon minds. This difference eased a tension in him. They were Talented, but not a threat. On the contrary, they were very playful and friendly and Menolly's started to pester him so frequently she had to send them away. Then Zair, seeing his chance, had started up too and Robinton had had to do the same, apologizing profusely for the firelizard's lack of manners.

Two...he could _sense_ fewer preconceptions in Robinton and Menolly about their own abilities, and what preconceptions they did seem to have, they seemed closer to human-normal, and Afra had techniques at hand to deal with them. When working with F'nor and F'lar, it had seemed they'd been laboring over a considerable block on their abilities—put into stark relief when the Headwoman Manora had tossed Afra out of his chair with ease. There was _something_ going on there...most likely related to being a dragonrider.

Three...there was less tunnel-vision, less mental resistance and fatigue. The two Harpers were just frankly better at learning, less set in their ways. From F'lar and Lessa in particular, Afra had had a sense of "We're doing this _because—"._ From Robinton and Menolly, it was more, "What's next?"

That's not to say everything was perfect. Towards the end of the session—four hours later—Afra found himself with a few concerns. Damia had been right about Menolly's mind flying about on wings; she merged so easily and frequently with them that when he showed her a bit about reaching out to his mind, as a precursor to showing her how to reach to _Damia_ (although he carefully shielded that ulterior motivation away; he was sure once she had the ability he wouldn't have to do anything at all to encourage it to happen), he found himself in a merge with her without having initiated or consented to one. And she had a totally unconscious mental authority to the telepathy that _she_ became the focus of the mind-merge when by all rights _he_ should have.

When it happened, Afra immediately dropped from the merge—which visibly startled Menolly, and the impression he got was it felt, to her, like she'd just dropped something she was holding. He had to slam up his shields to stop her automatic reach to reestablish the merge, or, from her perspective, to "catch" the thing she'd dropped. She was strong enough that such an instinctive "catch" striking up against his shields made his head ring a bit.

"Those are advanced techniques, Journeywoman," Afra said gently, aware that if she had any negative feedback from him at this stage, or knew he'd caused him pain, it would snowball and make things immensely more difficult in the future. "We will get to them, but later. For now, if I shield or back away, it is to prevent bad technique from being learned."

Robinton was pleased his Journeywoman showed such promise, but reinforced Afra's words. "It's no surprise you're a quick learner, Menolly, but think of some of our soloists." And Afra had the perception of a treble who learned fast and quickly—but made a correspondingly larger ass of themselves when Domick tried an unexpected technique and they hadn't the flexibility to learn it because they'd thought they'd learned it all.

The Harper was a different matter. He was exquisitely empathically sensitive when something was in his range, but had his perceptions of his own Talent so tied into _Harpering_ and personal identity that, even though he was a quick learner once something was demonstrated to him, there was _so much_ to re-teach or undo that Afra suspected Robinton might have an extremely quirky empathic Talent for the rest of his life. For now, Afra focused on making Robinton aware when he was using his Talent—particularly when he was doing empathic leans on others—for that's where most of the danger lurked if he ever leaned on the wrong person at the wrong time and was detected.

There was a secondary potential issue with Robinton: he self-medicated, or so Afra strongly suspected. Afra was no medic, but Afra caught the man's thoughts beginning to wander to wine at the end of the session when he was tired, a sort of wordless longing to mute the world around him. Given Robinton continued to be so enthusiastic about shielding techniques, and the clear evidence of his current and past empathic sensitivity and use, it would not at all be surprising if he had turned to drink to dull his Talent in the past. But he also threw up a tired shield, too, which gave Afra hope that maybe he was wrong, or that Robinton would not be so dependent on such things in the future. It was still disconcerting to see a man so young (in Nine Star terms) looking so physically old. Afra's own father was of a similar age as Robinton, but would be mistaken for a much younger man on Pern.

When the session came to a close, Afra heard Menolly give permission to the firelizards to return. He was immediately mobbed again, to Menolly's dismay, but Afra assured her he did not mind. He said, "Can they survive on red meat only?" He had picked up, during the diplomatic dinners, that Pernese classified their meat as red—that is, from Terran animals—or not.

Robinton wiped a hand down his face and chuckled as he tiredly leaned back in his chair. "Have you decided to accept our gift?"

Lazybones, a brown, hummed contentedly under Afra's fascinated caresses. "I can't imagine any telepath who wouldn't want one," Afra said. "But like Gollee, I'm not sure I'd forgive myself if the creature could not be properly nourished off of Pern. Breaking a telepathic bond is not something you do lightly, even if you say firelizards can and do leave the people they Impress to." For a second, he remembered his sibling bond with Goswina. "It leaves a hole," he said softly.

"Do Talents Impress in any form in the Nine Star League?" Robinton asked.

"Well, we don't have dragons or firelizards. But telepathic twins, for example, will have a mental link that will exist their entire lives, and if one dies, the other will often pass on shortly after, usually within hours."

Afra paused, battling with himself, for he did not often reveal this. But, he thought, Pernese might understand better than other people. "I had a sibling bond, once. With my elder sister. Not a twin bond, not nearly so intense." He stared, unseeing, out the window. "I had the strongest Talent in my family, being able to hear and project thoughts in my infancy, and my parents were too weak as telepaths to contain me reliably, so they recruited my elder sister, a T-6, to help distract me from mischief until I was old enough to keep myself disciplined. When I was five, she went offworld, away from Capella to Altair, outside of my range at the time, although I would be able to span that distance now. It broke the bond, and she married when she returned, which prevented it from being reestablished, as," and here Afra smiled ruefully, "a new husband is much more interesting than a little boy and she had little time to spare for me once I knew how to keep my thoughts to myself." His eyes dropped to the firelizard in his lap again. "I would not willingly choose to do that to a firelizard."

Menolly said, "To my knowledge, they can subsist on red meat. The only thing I've ever seen them seek out on their own are liquids. When the females raise to mate, they will blood prey—suck the liquids out of them. Sometimes if the meat I give them is dried, instead of fresh, they'll do this outside of mating."

"You do need to oil them," Robinton interjected.

"Yes," Menolly said. "They naturally live on coasts and eat oily fish, and I think maybe red meat is not oily enough for their hides will crack and bleed if they are not oiled by me."

A bronze, Zair, flew over to perch on the back of the couch Afra sat on. Zair sent him directly a flash of thought-sensation-images:

Oil. Touch. Itchy, itchy broken hide. Pleasure, pleasure. Together?

"The little liar!" Robinton said, clearly having picked up his firelizard's request of Afra. "I oiled him this morning and he hasn't a single patchy spot."

Afra touched the bronze's mind more deeply, and saw this was true; Zair was angling for sympathy and had no real itch.

"Is he being manipulative again?" Menolly asked. "You know, he asked me the same the other day. I daresay he's picked up some habits from you—"

Robinton gasped. "Are you impugning my honor?" he demanded dramatically, although the clear empathic undercurrent was playful. "Me?"

_Are you being truthful, little one?_ Afra asked.

Zair's eyes whirled, blues-greens to show friendliness.

_Where is the itch?_ Afra persisted.

The firelizard gazed into his face, and Afra felt the small mind tickling his shields with its curiosity. It was fascinated with his mind, and he could feel it probing. For what, he didn't know. He had no idea how or why firelizards had evolved telepathy, or how they used it among themselves.

Then it sat back on its haunches, and he saw what it had gotten from him:

Images of Kama. And Rowan. Regardless of the shields over his private mind.

It projected them both back at him, along with a whirlwind of other faces. Then it chirruped.

"I don't understand," he said.

"That's a relief," Robinton said to Menolly, his baritone voice droll. "I thought I was just a dimglow when he does that to me."

Zair responded with a bunch more faces: Menolly, Robinton, Silvina, Sebell, Lord Groghe, and some strangers, along with senses of golds and bronzes. Then he said _?_

The firelizard expected something of him, but he still didn't know what it was, and the creature's mind was different enough when he gently probed, he couldn't figure it out then either.

Then Menolly said, "Oh dear."

Afra and Robinton both looked at her.

"I've had...I've had faires do that to me."

"Do what to you?" Robinton asked.

"Well...they ask me who my mate is. Or Beauty's. I think. They don't seem to differentiate much between Beauty and I. It's something social, but they don't seem to treat me differently no matter what I tell them. Unless I give them information about Aunties One and Two, in which case they act like I'm nuts and jump _between_ in disgust."

"Zair," Robinton said gently from across the room. "Stop being rude to Master Lyon. It's not your business who his mate is."

Afra was less disgruntled about being asked, and more that the firelizard, without apparent effort, had gotten information from behind his shields.

Also, Rowan wasn't, and never had been, his mate. "I've no wife, little one," he said to the firelizard.

...and that was suddenly that. The firelizard began pleading for touches again, albeit the earlier lie about being patchy forgotten, until Robinton, with a bit of annoyance, rose and physically picked up the firelizard and stroked him until the bronze began to hum and his inner eyelids closed. "My apologies, Master Lyon."

Lazybones still lazed in Afra's lap. Afra stroked him absently and said, "No worries, Master Robinton. They're very intriguing." He paused. He wanted one. He knew he did, and as he thought there was no reason he couldn't import meat from Pern if it was needed. A single wherry, frozen and stuck in a freezer, would probably feed one for half a year. He sighed. "I suppose I'm not the first to fall to their allure," he said, rueful, keeping light tabs on Lazybone's sleepy yet still _intelligent _thoughts.

Robinton and Menolly both laughed.

The Harper said, "The first time I saw one, it was being like a little boy again. I could think of nothing else. Responsibilities? Psh. I had eyes for nothing but the little winged rascals. Had my mother been alive still, I would have clung to her skirts and whined, 'Please? Pleeeeaaaassse? Please can I have one?' until I was an utter nuisance."

"I appreciate the offer of one," Afra said, bowing his head.

"It's very difficult to sex a hatchling in the shell," Menolly said. "But we'll try to get you one of the biggest eggs. Those usually end up being golds, bronzes, or browns."

Afra was aware that those held the highest "rank", but he didn't care. "I would not be discontent, no matter the color," he said honestly. "Thank you for the honor."

"Thank you for the honor of teaching us," Master Robinton said.

And then, because Afra had responsibilities in the afternoon to the Diplomats, he put Lazybones aside and rose, and after suitable goodbyes, he 'ported back to his quarters in Fort Weyr.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

_Do you feel like a dancing polar bear? I feel like a dancing polar bear,_ Gollee Gren commented to Afra Lyon privately several weeks later, as they sat in chairs on the edge of an empty dragon's weyr—empty only in the technical sense, in that no dragonrider pair lived here. Behind them were the murmurs and coughing of Pernese Lords and Masters and of course Dragonriders. The Nine Star League diplomats also attended, but as all of them had witnessed the tricks the FT&T could do, were more focused on the reactions of the Pernese.

_YOU feel like a dancing polar bear?_ Afra responded on the private band, a touch of incredulity in his response.

Gollee risked a quick side-glance at the man, but externally, Afra was serene. _Yours was different. That woman wanted to perform _FOR_ you...in a manner of speaking...you should have taken her up on it,_ he teased.

_She was fourteen._ Distaste.

_But pretty! And knew what she wanted!_

Silence.

_You've got to admit, the local equivalent of a princess dressing up as a drudge in order to try to get into YOUR pants is a pants is a pretty gutsy move. Running away from home, sneaking into the Weyr, the whole bit. She's a daughter of Lord Groghe, correct? After he finished that insincere apology to you, didn't he reward her for her daring? Something about having more balls than his boys?_

Silence.

Gollee smiled and projected _teasing_ at Afra, for he felt fourteen was too young too. Didn't mean he didn't find the whole situation terribly amusing. But if he prodded too much Afra's silence would go from mere silent to icy, and he really had no desire to deal with that.

Anyway, they had work to do.

Far below them, in the Weyrbowl of Fort Weyr, were two spaces. One was filled up with wooden crates and barrels, offerings that the diplomats had managed to secure from Hold and Hall, to be sent to the Nine Star League. Gollee suspected the crates and barrels, terribly functional to the Pernese, would end up in a museum somewhere once divested of their contents as "modern" examples of what a cooper did—even if he had not yet heard of a "Cooper Hall", devoted to barrel-making.

The other space was empty, to be filled with incoming shipments.

A few moments later, a merge-mind contacted them. _This is Prime Rowan of Callisto, and second Veswind Ogdon,_ the mind informed them. It was predominantly a feminine mind; Afra's nephew was so integrated he was practically not there, only the slightest trace of twenty-something young man evident in the combined touch.

Gollee wondered if Rowan was dominating to this extent because of the importance of this transfer, so that perhaps her second would not remember the details for security reasons or some such, or if it were some other reason. But he wondered it deep in his mind, for it wasn't something he could ask Afra about now...although he had the nagging feeling that if this is what a Rowan/Veswind merge felt like, Veswind wasn't going to last long, no matter how much Rowan wanted to have "a Lyon" as her second.

Afra reached out to Gollee. Gollee, as the lesser Talent, closed his eyes and let himself be pulled into the merge with Afra, contributing strength. They would need all the strength they had for this first catch. _This is Afra Lyon and Gollee Gren, on Pern_, they responded, their mental voice an odd two-tone of Afra's tenor voice and Gollee's own slightly deeper voice_. Permission to broadcast our communications to those able to hear it?_

The slightest surprise from the Veswind-mind, but the Callisto merge answered: _Permission granted_.

Afra turned his head to the assembled Pernese behind them. "We've made contact with Callisto Tower, who will be sending us the necessary components for the rest of today's transfer. For the benefit of those of you here who possess telepathy, to give insight into the communication side of the FT&T, we'll be broadcasting our conversation with them to you. However, we graciously request that you do not interrupt the conversation, particularly when it goes silent."

There were nods and sounds/feelings of agreements, mostly from the dragonriders.

The Lyon/Gren merge turned its attention back to Callisto._ Callisto Tower, we are ready for the manifest._

Behind them, a few people jumped—some of them not ones Afra or Gollee had yet trained.

_Rukbat Tower, we are sending the manifest!_ the Rowan/Ogdon merge sent, loudly enough that the Lyon/Gren merge didn't have to backfire the conversation to be heard.

Many more people jumped, with a few mumbled curses.

"Is that a queen?" someone whispered in confusion.

The Lyon/Gren merge felt amusement, but did not reply to anything going on behind their physical bodies. And then it caught the manifest—a very small box with data drives in it. It appeared in Afra's hands, but he handed it over to Gollee, and Gollee opened the box and inserted it into his com. _Manifest received,_ they sent, minds still linked. There were various goods listed, but the ones they were most interested in were the FT&T materials: a generator, and a crate of EEG parts and quarters-shielding. _Is the generator in roll-out configuration?_

_As you requested, the generator is ready to be used once you catch it. Earth Tower assembled it, but we had our Stationmaster and Supercargo here at Callisto Tower reconfirm its readiness. We are ready to send it._

_We are appreciative,_ they sent. The generator being in immediate working order was what they needed to continue this exercise. Then they braced themselves. _We are ready to receive!_

_Incoming,_ Callisto sent. _In three, two, one—now!_

Afra drew liberally from Gollee's strength, and Gollee felt himself grunt—although more because the chair he sat in at the edge of the weyr was not all that comfortable for 'porting. If he and Afra both hadn't been all too aware that normal FT&T procedure would make it look like they were sleeping...but they were, and the damn chair was poking him somehow, even though it shouldn't have pokey bits.

And then they had the generator, a lone box-like shape in the center of the empty space on the weyrbowl.

_We have it,_ they sent. _Give us five minutes to set her up._

_We will reconvene in five minutes_, the Callisto merge sent.

Their merge fell apart, for it would be quicker for two minds to separately carry out their tasks for this. Gollee could feel (and see!) Afra strip the outer crates from the generator, something that brought more gasps and comments from people than the generator appearing in the first place. As he did this, he found an auxiliary box, and put it at Gollee's feet.

Gollee bent down and opened the box, people around him craning to see what was inside. But it was nothing more than a tablet and a metal stand. He assembled the stand on its heavy base, then slid a coat-hook like projection into the back of the slate, and booted it up.

There was one hitch: the slate tried to sync with satellites once awake, and in lieu of finding any, asked if he wanted to sync with some gibberish names, such as Yokohama. Gollee denied syncing with anything but the lone generator down below, and a few moments later, had an unimpressive graph with flat lines. Gollee lifted the metal stand, and positioned it where both he and Afra could glance at it if needed. "Our readout, sir."

Afra opened his eyes briefly to glance at Gollee, but then understood why Gollee was standing on rank. Rank was something the Pernese understood, and here and now, performing as FT&T agents, it made sense to stand on rank for their audience. "Thank you, Mr. Gren."

Gren shifted, and found the bit of padding in his chair that was in the way, and moved it. Then there was a _boop_ sound, and the graph on the tablet began to move. "Generator's coming on-line," Gollee said, more for the benefit of people around them. "Thermal readings are a bit low, we might need a bit more than five minutes for warm-up in order to not crack the shell."

"Might have been stored in orbit, to keep the surface clean after quarantine," Afra murmured. _Callisto Tower, will an additional five minutes wait be acceptable?_ he sent.

_That is fine, Rukbat Tower,_ the Rowan sent.

_Why are we calling it Rukbat?_ Gollee asked Afra privately.

_I'm not certain—perhaps because "Rukbat" is a name both us and the Pernese understand?_

_Hm,_ Gollee sent.

_I assume Prime Raven has a good reason for it._

Probably. Jeff was crafty like that.

The additional five minutes elapsed, the generator warming up to operational levels, and Gollee let Afra take him into the merge again, and they briefly leaned into the power of the new generator, causing it to rumble audibly up from the bowl. It was nowhere as large as a real Tower generator, but it would do.

"Output is normal," Gollee said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears—as he was merged, and partially hearing from Afra's as well as his own.

"Draw is normal," Afra commented. _Callisto Tower, we are ready to catch._

_Then we are ready to send!_

The next few items were FT&T, and Afra and Gollee stacked those crates on the weyr ledge, next to Gollee. Then there was a short rest pause. Afra poured himself a high-energy drink, and Gollee rooted in the box that had the generator and found a hand-held scanner. Then he rose, quite a prestigious audience watching him...

...and began to scan barcodes with the little red laser.

_Beep. Beep. Boop._

_Gollee Gren,_ Afra said privately, censure lurking in his mind behind those words.

_What? It needs to be done. Don't tell me YOU want to break FT&T protocol!_

_You have the highest officials on this planet...watching you scan inventory codes._ If it had been anyone else than Afra chiding him, the words, "You asshole." would have been added on the end.

_They've never seen it before. Let 'em watch! The more BORING the FT&T seems, the better. Or at least, the more relatable._ Boop.

As this went on, there were a few whispers, and murmurs. Then Master Idarolan began to chuckle. "Different means, same end," he said.

"What's that, Master Idarolan?" Gollee Gren asked, looking up from his work.

The Mastermariner folded his arms over his chest. "The means are different, but I've seen _that_ sight a million times!"

Gren chuckled and nodded. "It's unlikely we'll lose anything with a shipment this small," Gollee said. "But it's FT&T policy. When it leaves a Tower, it's put into the inventory list as leaving. When it comes into a Tower, it's put into the inventory list as arriving."

"And when someone comes along crying that something didn't arrive, you have records."

"Exactly!"

The man began to chuckle again. "I didn't think my Craft had much to do with yours. Seems I thought wrong. Might be coming by later to speak, if you and Master Lyon don't mind."

Afra turned in his chair. "We can arrange it," he said.

"Good, good."

Rest pause over, and scanning done, Gollee took his seat again, and they prepared for the next round.

#

The incoming cargo was sent to them by Callisto Tower. But the outgoing cargo went directly to Earth Tower.

There were murmurs of surprise as Earth Prime's voice rang out in the heads of those sensitive to it. _Good morning, Rukbat Tower. Or should I say good evening? _

_We can say both, Earth Prime,_ the Lyon/Gren merge said, a combination of polite and cheeky depending on if you felt the Lyon mind was slightly more dominant, or the Gren mind.

_How's that generator working out for you?_

_It's been—_and they stopped, both minds in the merge distracted by a firelizard landing on Afra's shoulder.

And another landed on the stand for the generator readout.

And third appeared at Gollee's feet, before vaulting into his lap.

Then, like a dam breaking, suddenly two dozen firelizards appeared out of nowhere—literally—and began trying to _talk_ to Gollee and Afra, all at once, many of them landing on the crates that they'd 'ported on earlier.

Behind them, a few loud voices rose, trying to command the firelizards to stop, but they paid no heed to the humans and excitedly trilled and threw psychic images around.

_Pardon, Earth Prime,_ Afra and Gollee sent in unison. _Give us a moment._

But they didn't need a moment; as quickly as the firelizards appeared, they vanished.

Gollee looked over his shoulder.

Weyrwoman Lessa said, a displeased frown on her face, "I had Ramoth speak to them."

"Thank you, Weyrwoman," Gollee and Afra said in unison, for they were still merged, and a few of the people in the room looked startled. Or perhaps that was just the there-and-gone firelizard mobbing.

Probably both.

_The generator has been adequate,_ Afra eventually sent into the silence to Earth Prime.

_We'll get you another one, then,_ Jeff Raven sent, interpreting, correctly, that Afra's adequate was just that..._adequate_, not a smidge more. _But for now, send me over what you've got, and I'll make sure it goes to the right places._

#

Soon enough, the goods that were initial Hold and Hall offerings to the Nine Star League were sent, and their audience, quite interested in what had _arrived_ shuffled back downstairs. Gollee Gren went with them.

Afra, on the other hand, stayed behind, begging fatigue.

Which was entirely true. The generator had been no more than adequate, and while he'd drawn deeply from Gren on the first 'port for the generator, for subsequent he'd only kept Gren in the merge as an emergency resource. He wanted ONE of them to be alert after the exchange.

Pouring the last of his juice, and downing it in a long gulp, Afra set his glass down, and wiped at his face, staring at the FT&T crates. They should be full of necessary EEG components for dragons, and additional panels for constructing shielded training rooms.

Sighing, he rose, and retrieved the scanner from Gollee's chair. Then he went over to the crates, found the barcode on one, and scanned it.

_You do recall I did that already,_ Gollee sent.

_I do. But this isn't ordinary Tower operations. It doesn't hurt to scan things twice._

A pause. Then a mental shrug. _Sure._ And the man's presence vanished.

Afra took his time going through the crates—and unlike Gren, he opened a few to visually check what was inside.

Eventually he got to one on the far side of the pile, a large metal box, bigger than he was, meant for panels. With practiced twists of his mind, he undid the bolts on each corner of the box, then lifted the top.

Inside, Damia lay, on her back, arms hugging her chest, on a bed of two shielding panels that hadn't been removed from the box. Her blue eyes were wide, and he sensed that she had debated 'porting away long before he removed the top...or staying put, in the hopes of preventing any scare about her being "missing" for too long.

Afra regarded her for a long minute, then said, "Welp, this isn't what I ordered. Guess I should pack it up again," and he began to pull the top back into place.

"Afra, wait—" Damia said, a hand coming up to prevent the lid from closing.

He gently moved her hand aside, closed the lid over her, and sent, _You're germy. You just contaminated an entire box of items we needed._

_I am not germy! Callisto has a clean-room now, and its zappers are programmed for Pern bugs! All of the cargo that went through got zapped—and I zapped myself, too!_

He sighed. _It takes five years for the zappers to become reliably effective on living creatures. Five basic years of raking through colonial mud and dirt, and training the machines._

_But only a few weeks to become seventy-five percent effective. I've seen the pee-data you guys send over._

_Damia._

_If anyone becomes sick, it'll be me, not the Pernese._

_Damia._

_I just wanted to see a firelizard! I...I didn't mean to call them ALL..._

_Damia!_

_Don't send me back, please! I mean, they'll put me in quarantine since I've been here already, so if I'm here I might as well DO something—_

_You should have thought of that before having your mother 'port you over!_ The Rowan was going to completely flip her lid if she knew she'd 'ported Damia to another planet. Again—except this time it had _happened_. And Afra had not been on base to prevent it.

_She didn't. I'm not three, piggybacking on her thrust. Everything came through clean, she didn't 'port anything but what she intended to. The rest of the panels are in your quarters—I just cleared them out, then 'ported myself into the box._

Afra's heart nearly stopped. An inter-star 'port—without a capsule! What was Damia _thinking? He_ was going to lose his mind...!

_PLEASE let me stay. Just a little while!_

He closed his eyes. Blowing up at her would not fix things, or put them the way they had been.

_ Please? I promise not to make a fuss. And I won't, not if you don't give away my secret. _

He opened his eyes again. Looked at her.

She looked _nothing_ like a Pernese woman.

_ Well, we can fix that. That...um...that woman left some clothes in your quarters..._

_What?_

_The one that tried to seduce you..._

How had Damia _known_ about that?

_If we put ME in them, and braid my hair, and I keep my mouth shut, nobody will know I'm not Pernese..._

_She left clothing in my quarters?_

_...um...yeah. You didn't know? She was going to come back later when things calmed down, and get them. And see if you changed your mind. Look, what if she was going to assassinate you or something? I wanted to know why she was bothering you!_

_Damia._ This one was nearly a plea.

_Afra!_ Then, she sent, cannily, _If you didn't want to help me, why didn't you have Gren open these boxes with you?_

True. And the minx knew he'd been covering for her...already. _And where are you supposed to be now?_ he asked sternly, trying to set a more appropriate tone than "Damia tramples all over Afra".

_Oh. There's some camp on Earth I acted really enthusiastic about...I paid for it with my own credit! But I told the camp to use it so someone who couldn't afford it could go, so it won't go to waste if I'm here instead. Anyway, I'm supposed to be gone a month...no contact, back to our primal roots on Earth camp sort of thing...they won't even miss me. Probably glad I'm gone, actually. Besides, Larak really _did_ go to that camp..._

So she'd bounce her telepathy through her brother, to hide that she was really on Pern...

That was perhaps the only bright light in this situation...Rowan wouldn't be jumping down his throat, searching for Damia.

_Stay here,_ Afra sent, thumping the lid for emphasis. _Stay in the box._

_...there's not much air in here..._

_Well, don't suffocate, but spend ninety-five percent of your time in that box—_

_ —is this a Capellan punishment?_

He ignored her. _And don't put anything in your mouth. Or touch anything that might get on your hands, and then into your mouth or eyes._

_I was thinking about licking door handles._

_Don't._

_Wow, your estimate of my intelligence is at an all-time low!_

_Yes,_ he sent. _It is._

#

Afra tried to get a particular person alone, but the activity surrounding the small amount of cross-planet trade that had happened today made it effectively impossible. So instead Afra floated around, giving the occasional tip to this Master or that Lord or this Weyrwoman on how to use a gift they'd been given, while periodically checking in on a boxed Damia that was getting grumpier and grumpier.

_I have to pee!_

_Well, remove the shields before you do. They corrode, but the box can be hosed out._

A wave of frustration hit him, but he shielded against it.

Eventually, night fell, and people began to leave, ferried away from Fort Weyr by dragons.

Afra waited until a certain person had left...and then left too.

Unfortunately, even with waiting, he was a bit too quick with his teleportation, and spent some time cooling his heels under the light of a glowpot. But then the door opened, and shut, and Afra finally had the moment he'd been looking for.

"Pardon my intrusion," Afra Lyon said to Master Robinton, from one of the couches in Robinton's office.

The man jumped, and the firelizard on his shoulder scolded, eyes turning red before shifting back to orange and yellow. "Master Lyon?"

"Yes," Afra said, and rose, bowing deeply. "And again I apologize, but things were so busy this afternoon that I couldn't find a moment to speak to you. I hope you don't mind overmuch if we take a moment now."

"Ah, no. No, no. Is there something wrong?" An anxious feeling emanated from the Harper before he turned away, and busied himself with opening other glowpots to give the room more light. Then he shed his wherhides and put them in a closet.

"I wouldn't say there's anything _wrong_ other than the...over-enthusiastic ambitions of youth," Afra said carefully.

Robinton looked at him for a long moment, then snorted. "Did Lord Groghe's daughter—"

"No! No..." _How had..._Afra decided not to dwell on how the Harper had known, despite his efforts to keep the incident quiet.

"Was it _someone else's_ daughter?" Robinton asked, a twinkle appearing in his eye. Apparently he wasn't above ribbing Afra these days, or at least not after finding Afra lurking in his office after dark.

_Yes,_ Damia said—but seemingly didn't project at Robinton, for he gave no evidence of hearing.

_Not another word from you until I say so,_ Afra sent to her.

She vanished.

Then Afra said, "Not...in that manner, and certainly not in that context...but yes."

Robinton blinked. Then he sighed, and turned and opened a cupboard and pulled out a skin of wine. "Very well. Come, sit, have some wine."

Afra did not exactly call himself a wine connoisseur, but after a few weeks of training the Harper, he was able to appreciate them on some level, although even more so he appreciated Robinton's enjoyment of them. So he sipped his glass, and waited as Robinton settled himself down and began to unwind.

"Do you recall, earlier today, when all those firelizards came to investigate?" Afra said eventually.

"One of the larger mobbings I've seen," Robinton said wryly. "Usually they only get that big around Ruth." He paused. "None of them were _ours_." His Zair, or Menolly's faire.

Afra smiled. "I'm sure not," he said. "They appeared because we had, ah...a stowaway."

"A stowaway?"

"Yes."

One of Robinton's eyebrows arched high. "Someone was in one of the crates when they went _between_ to come here?" Then he corrected himself. "Pardon, when they teleported?"

"Technically, no," Afra said. "Otherwise we would have detected it. But effectively, yes."

"Explain."

"The crates were teleported by Callisto's Prime, to myself and Gollee Gren, intact. But when we were sending crates to Earth, a young Talent removed some of the contents of one of the FT&T crates we'd already brought here, and teleported herself inside."

"...is this 'young Talent' Damia?" Master Robinton asked.

Afra nodded, rueful.

"Do her parents know she's here?"

Afra slowly shook his head.

Robinton took a sip of his wine, and pulled at his lower lip. "What do you want from me?"

Afra said, "As I understand it, you take paying students. Would you be inclined to take another paying student on, for a month?"

"Why only a month?"

"People will start looking for her in a month."

"Such as her father?"

Chuckling, Afra said, "Such as her mother. And also her father."

Robinton took another drink, then twirled the stem of his wineglass in his fingers. "Is she musical at all?"

"She can sing in tune, to my ear at least. Whatever little that may be worth, as I am no Harper. But I'm afraid compared to the average young adult in the Harper Hall, she learned very little about Pernese history and society, and need remedial training on those subjects." Afra said this with a faint smile, as Damia fumed in his head.

"And what do you offer in return?" Robinton said, with a grin to make the question more friendly.

"Damia is adept at tutoring other students. In addition to knowing the universal, Basic language, she can read and write the Terran language Russian. She knows advanced mathematics, on par or beyond what the Smithcraft knows. Algebra, Geometry, Calculus, et cetera. She knows the history of the Nine Star League, with emphasis on the histories of the colonial planet Deneb, and the FT&T. She's good with animals, can ride horses—runners—although the tack you use here is slightly different from what she's used to." And Afra rattled off other aspects of Damia's training, fully intending for Damia to pay for her own keep (and thankful that the Harper seemed very intrigued by the prospect.)

Still, Robinton did ask about the inevitable: "And what of her Talent?"

Shaking his head, Afra said, "Neither I nor Damia herself are able to legally barter the use of her Talent. She's a minor, and the FT&T has stringent rules that are unable to be fulfilled in this scenario."

"Understood. Or at least, your immediate words are." There was a sense from Robinton that he knew there was an entire world of things he did not understand underneath that statement—but he could not go down that path immediately. "I'd like to meet her."

"Of course. May I give her the coordinates so she can teleport here directly?"

"Go ahead."

It took a few minutes, for Damia wanted to 'port to his quarters and make sure she didn't have a bird's nest on her head, and then she was there, blinking in the soft greenish light. Then she turned to Master Robinton, and executed a very nice bow, even by Afra's standards. "Master Robinton. Thank you for letting me come here."

"As I understand it, you came all this way by _yourself_. Are we so interesting to you?" He seemed genuinely curious in her answer.

A stunning smile appeared on her face. "Yes! Sir. It's very different from...anything I've seen before." She hesitated. Then she said, "I'll probably become a Prime, and once I do, once I'm adult, I won't be...as free to go where I want. To learn new things. There's always the Tower, and our duty to it. But I can go places now. Sort of," and she fiddled briefly with her fingers, and glancing over at Afra, before stilling them.

Robinton chuckled. Then he said, "Are women educated the same as men, in the Nine Star League?"

Damia blinked, glanced at Afra again. He didn't offer assistance. She said, "Yes, of course. Why would there be a difference, sir?"

"I don't believe there should be," Robinton said. "But getting others here on Pern to believe otherwise is difficult." He leaned back and took another sip of wine. "You seem quite intelligent. I suspect you'll be bored in classes with our paying students. They are generally occupied by young women trying to catch the eye of a young, male Harper for a husband, or the eye of a young man at Fort. At the same time, I suspect if I put you in classes with the male apprentices, you may be challenged in multiple ways."

"I'm not afraid of a challenge, sir."

Afra _didn't_ smile—but it was difficult.

Robinton, on the other hand, _did. _"I would be surprised if you were, but as I believe the name of this game is 'secrecy'," and here he hiked an eyebrow at Afra, and Afra nodded back, "—the challenges you would encounter in classes with the male apprentices may be a waste of your limited time here and could expose not just you, but Master Lyon and myself to greater consequences should someone here realize you are not from this world. Do you understand?"

A protest that had been forming died in Damia's throat. "Yes sir."

"I think, then, that I _will_ put you in a class with the paying students. But you'll also be tutored by Journeywoman Menolly. Or vice versa." His eyebrow arched again with this.

Afra felt Damia's happiness at that, and, given Damia did not shield it, suspected Master Robinton did to. He was certainly empath enough.

"Yes, sir, thank you!"

"Of course—and I'm remembering to do this because I did it wrong once before, or so my headwoman informed me...we'll need to get you appropriate _clothing_. Mustn't forget that, Silvina will have my own hide for stockings if I do."

"And," Afra interjected for the first time. "Some furs to cozy up the box you'll be sleeping in."

Damia whirled. "What?"

"It's metal, it should be thread-proof," Afra said, deadpan. "But metal is very cold."

"I'm not sleeping in a..." And then she seemed to remember she would be here under Master Robinton's hospitality, and she glanced at him...perhaps for reassurance, or perhaps for another reason.

The Harper was very good at keeping a deadpan face, too. And his shields were solid enough that it was unlikely Damia would get anything from him, if Afra wasn't.

"Is...is this a Capellan punishment?" Damia said after a moment, turning to Afra.

Afra rose. "Punishment?" he said, appearing slightly baffled. "Ah, you weren't long enough in the Weyr to hear the chatter. Dragons are loud. Firelizards can be too. We'll put a few of the shielding panels in the box, and some furs as I said, and you'll have a thread-free but most importantly _quiet_ refuge when you're not busy giving Journeywoman Menolly lessons." Then Afra seemed to catch himself. "Excuse me, I meant, when _she_ is giving lessons to _you._" He gave Robinton a long look. "That _is_ how it goes?"

"Mm-hmm," Robinton said.

"You're teasing me," Damia declared to Afra.

"I'm Capellan, I don't have emotions. I don't _tease_."

"You left Capella _ages_ ago. Even if you didn't have emotions then, mother probably locked you in a tiny capsule and telekinetically tickled you with a feather until you let out a solitary little 'ha'."

"That's very...odd and specific," Afra said. "How did you know the sordid tales of my past?"

Damia mimicked a gesture of her father's, and tapped her temple knowingly. "I have means and ways, Afra."

A minute later, there was a light knock on the door, and then Menolly poked her head in. "You wanted me, Mas—" And then she stopped. And stepped in quickly, and shut the door behind her. "You're Damia!"

"You're Menolly," Damia said.

"I didn't expect...oh, you're very pretty," Menolly said. "Is that streak in your hair real? A saw a girl like that, once..." Then she turned red, and said, "Not to say I _didn't_ think you would be, pretty that is, I actually didn't really think much about it all, it just surprised me."

"I believe I surprised everyone today," Damia offered, glancing back at Afra.

"Ha," Robinton said. "Menolly, Damia here is going to be a student for about a month. Just between us four—just us four, correct?" Robinton asked Afra.

"In an emergency, if I'm not available, you should reach out to Gollee Gren as well."

"Only a dire emergency," Damia muttered.

"—just between us four then. She'll be staying in Dunca's cothold—"

Menolly's mouth opened.

"—but Dunca will know she reports to you, Menolly, and nobody else."

"I will make that _very_ known," Menolly assured him, clearly speaking from some sort of experience.

Robinton looked at Afra. "Normally I'd put a daughter of a Craftmaster in her own room, but that will attract notice, and my Masters will wonder why. Which isn't conductive to secrecy. Menolly, please go get Damia appropriate clothing from Silvina. Just one outfit for now, then work with Silvina to select a small wardrobe that will get her through a month."

_Damia_, Afra interjected as Menolly left.

_Yes?_

_If it gets "noisy" at this Dunca's, let me know. There seems a larger ratio of latent projecting telepaths on Pern than normally found in populations of this size, and a Talent of your sensitivity may have a hard time sleeping. I was planning on installing some panels here so Menolly could train with me in a quieter environment, but we can appropriate a few to keep you comfortable as well, if needed._

_How would we hide them?_ she asked dubiously.

_Develop a fondness for large tapestries,_ he advised, projecting a room swathed in heavy, rug-like tapestries that hid both stone walls and anything tucked between the cloth and the stone.

_Immediately,_ she chirped.

Afra turned to Robinton. "I—we—very much appreciate your help in his matter," he said.

Robinton rose and said to Damia, "You're not the first young person I've known to go gallivanting _between_ places. Although I suppose in your case you did it under your own power, hmm, and not a dragon's?" He chuckled. "The trouble _I_ would have gotten into as a child if I'd been able to go _between..._" Afra briefly caught a memory of a yellow-eyed man...a dragonrider. A friend of Robinton's, now lost. Then Robinton said to Afra, "You and I are willing to learn about each other. But even so, it's not _us_ that will form the bond between worlds." He looked at Damia. "It's people like you, and my Journeywoman. The ones who don't yet have anything invested in the old way, in 'tradition'. The curious ones, the ones asking questions, who are not yet stuck in the rut of habit. 'History' might be made at Fort Weyr and Fort Hold in Conclaves full of dusty old men. But _change_ and _progress_ will start _here_. With your help." He glanced at Afra again, and gave a half-smile. "_We've_ just to set the stage for it. Damia."

"Yes sir?"

"Menolly will be back shortly. You can change in here once she has clothes for you. Perhaps...trim or style your hair. Menolly is not overmuch for such matters, but she knows more than I do," and he chuckled. "I'm going to go inform Dunca of her new boarder. She has a tendency to become stubborn with Menolly. Master Lyon, if I don't see you again—are we still on for...three days from now?"

"That hasn't changed," Afra reassured him. "We'll pick up where the last session left off."

"Fantastic. Have a good night."

"You as well, Masterharper. And, again, thank you." Afra afforded him a deep bow.

Robinton inclined his head slightly, and left.

When they were alone in the Masterharper's office, Damia turned and wound Afra in a brief, but tight, bear-hug. She was tall, already much taller than her mother, nearly as tall as her father. Despite being a couple of years younger than Menolly, she was almost as tall as the rangy young woman, too. "Thank you, Afra. You're always here when I need you."

"Except in this case, I think if I wasn't here, you wouldn't have found a reason to come here, hmm?" Afra said.

"What? No, I didn't come here to run after you. I was already talking to _Menolly_, and..." she turned away. "With camp, I saw my chance!"

Afra felt brief surprise. He had sort of assumed Damia was essentially running after _him_ by coming to Pern. It was a thing she'd done often before. But he could sense she was telling the truth when she spoke of Menolly...even if she'd also been curious about what _he'd_ been up to.

Had Damia made a close female friend?

He mulled it over as they waited for Menolly to return. And indeed, his suspicion seemed confirmed when their body language became almost conspiratorial, and they glanced at him—not just Menolly, but Damia too—as if he were an intruder, and they should watch their words together when he was present.

Since Damia had to change, anyhow, Afra excused himself then, and teleported back to Fort Weyr, to think it over in his quarters.

Yes, there was definitely truth to Damia coming to Pern to meet Menolly. If—or rather, _when_ Damia's parents tore him a new one for this—Afra would bring that up. It had been a subject of concern in the past, that Damia seemed to follow her mother's footsteps, having a difficult time forming bonds with other females.

But at the same time, Afra felt slightly disgruntled. And he realized it was because even with Larak, Damia had never fully shut him out. Indeed, Larak had sometimes stopped talking when he joined them, but Damia would see it was Afra, and just keep going.

Not tonight.

How _peculiar_ to feel a bit let down over that.

Even as a telepath, the human mind and soul continued to surprise him.

Even his own.


End file.
